


Impression, Sunrise

by ciaconnaa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Gen, Humor, I know you don't believe me but there's humor, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), but it's kinda cute I'm trying to write some cute...dive on in, canon compliant....because I'm That Bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/pseuds/ciaconnaa
Summary: In Peter Parker's eyes, Morgan Stark is a lot of things: a terrible pancake chef, a top notch negotiator, the world's cutest six-year old. But above all, she is his family. He loves her like she's his own flesh and blood, and nothing could ever change that, not even his own crippling self-doubt. Not even when he, at times, feels like he doesn't quite belong to her.He hopes he's enough. He wants to be more than enough, but at the very least....He hopes he's enough.





	1. La Gare Saint-Lazare

**Author's Note:**

> takes place 2ish years after endgame? Peter is college aged so yeah OKAY spoilies ahead? yes? yes. Severely implied in the first chapter, at least. tried to keep the summary spoiler free but also like....I need to tell you what you're reading lmfao. ok cool. this is gonna be mostly happy I know you don't believe me but trust me you're in ciaconnaa's hands I GOT you fam.

“PETER. BREAKFAST.”

Peter wakes with a jolt, a common occurrence for the past few days since he’s been watching Morgan. She never seems to sleep, and she tries to be reasonable in her timing for waking up Peter, but she’s not exactly subtle. Whether it’s her kneeing him in the kidney when she comes running into his room and jumping on his bed, or her quietly sticking her finger up his nose until he startles, Morgan Stark always makes sure Peter wakes up on the first attempt.

This time, it’s her shriek from the kitchen. His nose immediately catches wind of a...cacophony of smells including over-chocolofied chocolate chip pancakes, as well as the smell of peanut butter, but that’s probably just his spider nose that can pick that up. He scrubs at said nose with the palm of his hand before he glances at his watch.

Oh. They’re running late.

He leaps out of bed, literally, and scrounges for appropriate clothing; jeans from yesterday, thrown carelessly on the floor and a clean t-shirt with one of his science puns that MJ adores so much. He stuffs his laptop and notebook into his bag before he grabs his jacket off the back of his desk and hurries out into kitchen to find Morgan standing on a chair in front of the stove, making pancakes that would give someone diabetes with just one bite.

All while wearing his Spider-Man mask.

A ridiculous sight. She’s _six._

“Morgoona,” Peter sing-songs, dropping his things and walking over to the counter to supervise. “What do you think you’re doing? And what’s with the mask?” he asks before he gasps dramatically. “Don’t tell me I’ve been replaced.”

She giggles at his antics as she pours batter into a skillet. “Karen’s reading me the next chapter of the _Sorcerer’s Stone.”_

Peter deflates. “Hey!” he whines. “I was supposed to read the next chapter to you.”

Morgan squirms. “But I couldn’t wait! I’m almost done! You said we could do the sorting quiz when we’re done!”

He gets that. He remembers flying through the Star Wars films. Especially after finding out Darth Vader was Luke’s father? In the end, God himself couldn’t have pulled him away from that VCR, but Ben sure gave it his best shot. “Fine,” he concedes. “But if you think you’re watching the Force Awakens without me, _think again.”_

Morgan hums, clearly not worrying about that. The pancakes are much too important. Peter looks around the messy kitchen and sees that it’s not just batter mess sticking to every surface. The island is littered with two open jars of peanut butter and two different jars of jam, four dirty knives tossed in the sink. It’s a lot. She’s been very busy this morning, which begs him to repeat: “Now let’s get back to my other question?”

“About what I’m doing?”

He reaches over and yanks the mask from her head, smoothing the hairs stuck to her cheeks out of her face. He stuffs it in a drawer out of sight and hopes he won’t forget where he put it. “That’s the one.”

She wipes her brow with her arm, narrowly avoiding getting cake-batter on her kiddie-sized AC/DC shirt. “I’m making us _breakfast,”_ she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Then, she points to two brown paper bags on the edge of the island, one with a giant M on it, the other P. “I also packed our lunches.”

“Ah. Peanut butter and jelly?” He guesses, needlessly.

She still hasn’t looked up from her task, eyes unblinking at the pancake in the skillet, waiting to turn it over. There’s already a small stack of them, which is already more pancakes than he’s ever made in his entire life. Again, has to remind himself: she’s six. “Yep,” she agrees, word popping with a bob of her head. “Crunchy with strawberry for me, smooth with blackberry for you.”

“Our favorites.” he leans down next to her, face hovering next to hers so they’re almost pressing their cheeks together.

“I know what to do,” she smiles, finally turning her head to look at him. It makes them a little cross-eyed. Peter puckers his lips comically and Morgan obliges, giving him a good morning kiss on the cheek.

“If that’s really the case,” Peter says, dropping his own good morning kiss on her forehead, “Then you wouldn’t be using the stove. You know you aren’t allowed to use the stove without supervision.”

She pouts, flipping the pancake when the batter bubbles reach the middle. “But I _know_ what to do. It’s not _hard.”_

Peter glances at the perfectly round pancakes and struggles for a comeback. The recipe might be horrendous, if the ungodly amount of chocolate chips is anything to go by, but the pancakes are...they’re pancakes. She does know what she’s doing.

So he uses the same fallback: blame Pepper. “That may be, but rules are rules. Gotta do what Mom says.”

Morgan sighs, but hands over the spatula before she gets to pouring batter for another pancake. “Fine. I already made enough.” Her dejection melts away and she excitedly shoves the stack of four pancakes down the counter. “Try ‘em!”

Peter’s nose is still picking up something off, and it’s not just the sugar. Still, he pulls out a fork from the drawer and takes a bite, sans butter, syrup, anything. Immediately, he realizes what’s not right and he can’t quite mask the disgust on his face.

Morgan’s own face screws up, disappointed. “Aw, man.”

“Salt,” he gets out, willing himself to swallow it. It’s not that hard. May’s had far worse cooking blunders over the year. If he can digest a brick of turkey loaf, he can manage the world’s saltiest chocolate chip pancake. “You put too much salt.”

“Shit,” she swears, but Peter is too busy grabbing a paper towel and scrubbing his tongue with it to reprimand her. “I knew there was too much. I accidentally knocked over the salt into the bowl. That’s why I added all the extra chocolate chips, to balance it out.”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s not how cooking or chemistry works.”

“Well, I know that _now.”_

“So it’s not breakfast. It’s a science experiment.” He grabs the plate of pancakes and walks to the trash can, gladly scraping them away. “You made me a lab rat.”

Morgan huffs. “It wasn’t supposed to be a science experiment. I just wanted to make breakfast.”

“Well thank you, but,” Peter glances at his watch again. Very much running late. “We gotta go anyway. You’ll have to settle for donuts on the way to school.”

She lights up, scrambling to grab her school books and the lunches and put on her shoes. Peter follows, double checking that the stove is off, and they hurry down to his car.

Everyone Peter has ever met has begged him to take one of Tony’s Audi’s and throw his ancient Volkswagen Beetle back in the literal junkyard in which he found it. Everyone but Morgan. She loves it’s worn exterior and mismatched paint and windows that go up and down when you crank it by hand. She’s already inside and buckled up by the time Peter even opens his door, but he still does a double check like he always does, unbuckling and buckling her seatbelt again.

Morgan is uncharacteristically quiet on the way to school. Not in a _I’m mad or upset_ kind of way, but more in a _I want to say something but don’t know how_ way. Peter isn’t sure how he’s learned to decipher the subtleties of her behavior, but he’s certain she’s about to burst with some sort of revelation. For someone so young, she is sometimes so careful with her words - usually it’s to ensure she can get what she wants. Food, a toy, that kitten Peter’s neighbor found and was trying to rehome.

When they come to a red light, a box of donut holes untouched in Morgan’s lap, Peter starts to get a little antsy. “Munchkin me, Munchkin.” And he opens his mouth wide.

She laughs a little and stuffs two donut holes in his mouth - both jelly filled. When he chomps down a bit of strawberry jelly dribbles out the corner of his mouth and it makes Morgan laugh a little harder.

“You’re so _mean,”_ Peter whines, and Morgan full out cackles at the sound of him whining with his mouth full. “I hate the jelly ones!”

“Those are the best ones!” She eats one to prove her point.

“Uh, maybe for you. You’re literally the worst.” He tries to wash it down with the coffee he got to go with it. “I want a refund.”

“On the donuts?”

“On you!”

“A refund on _me?”_

“Absolutely. Take you back to the Morgan Store. Get a new Morgan who only feeds me,” he reaches over and grabs a chocolate one, “The good donuts,” and he pops it into his mouth.

“You can’t take me back!” she laughs. “That’s not how it works.”

“Sure I can. You’ve got a year left on your warranty, everyone knows that.” When he tries to grab another donut, Morgan playfully yanks the box away, and while she doesn’t let him have a chocolate one, she doesn’t hand him the jelly one, she eats that one herself. So he considers it a win.

“Peter?”

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m kidding about the warranty. It’s expired. I can’t even get store credit. You’re safe.”

There’s that look. The revelation or the like is coming. “...You don’t have college on Fridays, right?”

“No,” he drawls. “What’s up?”

“Would you come to my school? For lunch?”

Morgan’s elementary school does a lot of activities that involve parents and community members, her class in particular taking a stance of togetherness since the decimation and subsequent revival. He himself has been to her school before as a chaperone for a field trip to the planetarium. He liked playing a part every once in awhile, no matter how small. So he’s surprised that Morgan seemed...apprehensive to ask him.

“You got it,” he promises. “What’s the big event this week? Is it artsy and craftsy? Are the fireman visiting with their truck again? Ooh!” he slaps the wheel in excitement, “Is someone bringing shelter dogs? Please tell me someone’s bringing shelter dogs.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “It’s...ah,” she twiddles her thumbs. “...Dad’s Day.”

Peter’s foot presses a little too harshly on the brake.

Luckily it’s New York and traffic is slow moving. The car just jerks a bit. They’ve made it to another red light, so Peter has a few seconds to have his mental breakdown and then get it together again. “Dad’s Day,” he repeats dumbly because... yeah. Okay. A red light isn’t enough time for a breakdown. Morgan Stark just asked him to her first grade lunch for _Dad’s Day._

“Yeah,” Morgan says, popping a donut into her mouth. “But like, everyone doesn’t have a dad. Susie has two moms so she’s bringing her uncle, and Jack is bringing his grandpa, since he lives with him. I asked Miss Sadie if I could bring you, and she told me it was okay, so don’t worry! We aren’t breaking any rules.”

 _Oh,_ Peter thinks, _we kinda are._

“Peter?”

“Yeah.”

“The light’s green.”

He blinks, looking up. Green indeed. “Oh! Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

The air in the car feels downright suffocating as Peter concentrates on making it the last two blocks to Morgan’s school. His grip on the wheel borders on his Herculean, Spider-Man strength, but he manages to reel it in enough, knuckles bleeding white. Morgan feels the shift as well, but as perceptive as she is, can’t quite tell what’s bothering him. She tries a few shots in the dark.

“It’s supposed to be like a field day?” she goes on to say. Like she feels the need to sweeten the deal. “Games and stuff. We’ll eat outside. Like picnics. You like picnics.”

Peter manages a nod. “Yes,” he agrees softly. “Yes, I like picnics.”

Morgan relaxes just a bit, happy with her progress. “Everyone’s bringing lots of food, so you won’t get hungry. You always eat a lot.” She reaches into the box and grabs two chocolate donut holes, and passes them over.

With one last shuddering breath he pushes his worries to the back of his mind and grabs the food, offering Morgan a small but albeit genuine smile. “Hmm. True.” She returns the sentiment tenfold, especially when he stuffs both of them in his cheeks to make them puff out like a squirrel and acorns, making her laugh. “Did you sign us up to bring anything?”

She nods as Peter finally pulls into the school lot and parks the car. “Pop-Tarts.”

_“Pop-Tarts?”_

“You can’t cook.”

He desperately wants to point out that he’s not the one that fed her salty pancakes, but he practices some restraint, grabbing her backpack and lunch from the back of the car. “I can buy like, _cookies._ Put them on a fancy plate. And pretend I made them.”

As she takes his hand to walk up the school steps, she gives him a patented Morgan Stark disapproving look. “That’s basically _lying._ You shouldn’t lie, Pete.”

He smiles to himself. What a good kid. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I’ll bring Pop-Tarts.”

“Cinnamon sugar, please.”

“As if there’s any other worthy flavor?”

When they get inside he has to sign her in, as they’re five minutes late, but the faculty is all smiles, not finding it in their hearts to give them any grief over it. Morgan Stark has that effect. He holds on to her lunch as they walk to their classroom, and it’s only when they’re a few feet away does he tap her shoulder to stop, crouching down to meet her face to face.

“Here,” he smiles, passing over her lunch. “Mom doesn’t get in from Tokyo until tonight so I’ll be here to pick you up, okay? Then we’ll all go out for dinner, how’s that sound?”

“Good,” Morgan grins. “Cheeseburgers?”

He sticks out his tongue. “Ewwwww.”

“Pleeeeease?”

He feigns a suffering sigh before his grin breaks through. “Sure thing, bug. Now, go on, have a good day. Learn something.” He leans forward and kisses her forehead. “Three thousand.”

_I love you._

“Three thousand,” Morgan agrees. “....and one! Gotcha!”

He gives her another kiss for that.


	2. Boulevard des Capucines

Peter doesn’t go to his lecture.

He knows that’s not, like, _good._ He shouldn’t be skipping class. But the small voice in the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like Ned tells him that a required history core class is a little bit _bullshit_ for engineering majors, and he his professor definitely won’t miss one face in a sea of three hundred faces.

So instead, Peter gravitates to the campus green space, finds the softest patch of grass, and decides to take a nap in the sun. He ends up fishing his bagged lunch out of his backpack and uses it as a makeshift visor, putting it over his eyes when his arms get tired of draping across his face.

Dad’s Day. _Dad’s Day._ It’s just too much. He wishes so desperately that either Rhodey or Happy had been in that car this morning - they’re her uncles, that’s what she calls them, so it’s really not that weird to invite _them_ given the circumstance. But Rhodey lives in D.C and Happy and May have been on holiday for two weeks so Morgan has been stuck with Peter who is….he’s…

His phone rings.

It takes him a moment to fish it out of his pocket before he holds it up to his ear. “Avengers’ Headquarters,” Peter says, tired and deadpan, “Head Bitch in charge speaking, how may I help you.”

Pepper laughs lightly from the other end. “In charge? You? We know that’s not true.”

“Fine. Avengers’ Headquarters,” he tries again, “Secretary of Bullshit speaking, how may I help you.”

“Ohhh, just wanted to check in on my little hellion,” Pepper says. “Hope she isn’t causing you too much trouble.”

“Shit,” Peter breathes out, “I knew there was something I was supposed to be doing this week.” He sits up, setting aside the bagged lunch in his lap. “You weren’t like, too attached to her, right?”

Pepper laughs again. “What was it this morning? Finger in your ear?”

He adjusts the phone between his cheek and shoulder, using both hands to reach inside and grab the sandwich. It’s wrapped up in far too much saran wrap, but Peter notices that she meticulously tore the crust off, just how she liked hers. It makes him smile. “Breakfast, actually. Made a ruckus in the kitchen and then tried to poison me with salty pancakes.”

Her sigh is very defeated. “I let her watch too many cooking shows. There’s no stopping her. But her spinach omelettes are really good.”

“Wait, really?”

“Maybe she’ll make you one in the morning. It’s...actually why I called.”

Peter can practically hear the scrunch of her brow over the phone. “You need me to keep her for another night?” he asks, mouth full of PB&J.

“Yeah,” she admits. “Well. Maybe more than one. I’m sorry. We’re doing some revisions to the merger that weren’t planned and it’s just..it’s gonna take some time. If you’re too busy, I could try to ask Rhodey but I don’t know-”

He hears the guilt rolling off her tongue, gaining momentum, and he’s quick to stop it. “Pepper. Of course she can stay with me. It’s okay. She’s not a chore. I’m never, ever, too busy for her. You know that.”

“Of course I know that,” she replies easily. “But you also have classes. Friends. Spider-Man.”

“I’m a little offended you listed classes before friends and Spider-Man on that priority list.”

“Peter.”

“I’m fine,” he assures with a laugh, taking another bite of his sandwich. The bag rattles in his lap when a breeze blows by and topples over, sending a large handful of stray chocolate chips scattered in the grass. Some birds are going to be very happy.

He laughs again, harder. Morgan really is something else.

“More than fine,” he amends as he debates eating one of the chocolate chips. He does. “No big tests, no nerd stuff with Ned and MJ, no giant lizard stalking the sewers. My schedule is all clear for Miss Stark.”

“...did the lizard thing actually happen?”

Peter pulls the rest of his sandwich apart and collects a few of the chocolate chips still in the brown paper bag and squishes them in the peanut butter, closing the sandwich back up again. “Last month,” he licks one of his fingers. “Didn’t Morgan tell you about it?”

“You told _Morgan_ about it?”

“I tell Morgan _literally_ everything. She and Ned are the only ones who think my stories are cool.” He tosses a chocolate chip in the air, catches it in his mouth. “Well, except maybe the one where I tell her Mom is going to be late coming home from her business meeting. I’m feeding her McDonald’s to soften the blow, and you can’t stop me.”

“Like you’ll even need it. She loves hanging out with you. She just won the lottery for an extended vacation,” Pepper scoffs. “But if she really does throw a fit, you can tell her I’m bringing her home a Totoro plush.”

“Us. You’re bringing _us_ a Totoro plush. Because I want one, too.”

“Tough. I’m bringing you a No Face.”

Peter gasps. “Wait - for real? You got me a No Face!?”

“Gotta be fair to both my kids, right?”

He makes a kiss noise over the phone. “Mwah! You’re the best, Pepper.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Just look after her and don’t feed her too much fast food.”

“You’re speaking to the Avengers’ official Treasurer of Dumbassery, you can’t stop me.”

Pepper laughs one last time. “Fine. I yield. It’s late over here, I’m gonna try and get some sleep, but I’ll call Morgan before her bedtime so -”

“11pm. Got it.”

“Peter.”

“....10pm.”

“Peter.”

“I don’t know her bedtime, I’m sorry.”

“Talk to you soon.” she sighs, defeated. But he hears the smile. He always does. “Three thousand.”

_I love you three thousand_

The wind gets knocked out of him, even though he’s perfectly safe in the grass. It's like Totoro himself is sitting on his lungs and his whole morning slams back into his brain. No amount of deflection and humor can save him. Peter wants nothing more than to bask in the sun and think about McDonald’s and Studio Ghibli films and everything that isn’t Morgan’s _Dad’s Day’s lunch_ at school -

“Peter? Honey, you still there?”

“Yeah,” Peter manages to croak. He runs a hand down his face. “Yeah, I just…”

_I need Tony._

He can't quite say it.

“...Three thousand.”

_I love you._

He hangs up.

 

* * *

 

Telling Morgan is as easy as Pepper predicts. It’s like a vacation for her, and she’s more than happy to stay with Peter, provided she still gets to talk to her mother before bed.

Peter still tries to bribe her with McDonald’s: the kitchen back at his place is still a mess (he’s pretty sure he didn’t put the jam back in the fridge, or even the lids back on the peanut butter) and he’s had too much of A Day to want to clean, but Morgan’s not having any of it. She wants to redeem herself for her breakfast mishaps, and that means stove top burgers and whatever else she wants with it, which means Peter has to both clean his kitchen up _and_ go to the grocery store.

Oh, the things he does for Morgan Stark.

She takes her usual perch inside the buggy, needlessly organizing and stacking everything they have picked out. The ingredients for the burgers are all there: ground chuck, fancy cheese, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, aka the _works,_ as well as potatoes that Morgan wants to peel to make homemade french fries. It sounds like it’s gonna be a night, one where they aren’t going to even finish cooking until eleven anyway, so Pepper can kiss her daughter’s reasonable bedtime goodbye.

When it comes to dessert, she’s more lax, and lets Peter get away with pints of Ben & Jerry’s instead of having to track down some shitty Buzzfeed recipe and inevitably ruining some cookies. The Avengers flavors or more or less retired, but there’s still quite a few pints of _Stark Raving Hazelnuts_ out for a limited time, by popular demand. Morgan glosses over it, not the biggest fan of hazelnuts, and chooses a pint of _Zombie Apoco-Choco Chip._ Which is just. Terrible in _so_ many ways. Not only in number of syllables, but two years doesn’t seem like enough time before society starts churning out the surplus of apocalyptic media. It was bad enough _before_ the decimation, but now it just seems tacky and...and, really. How could zombies be scarier than what actually happened -

“Jane said that you’re technically a zombie.”

Peter drops the ice cream in the cart with a little more zeal than he intended. “...Me, or Spider-Man?”

“You,” Morgan clarifies. “And half the world. The ones that got dusted and came back to life. She said you all are technically zombies.”

He tries to press his PTSD deep deep down inside himself to answer this logically and scientifically. Because it’s what she deserves. He slouches, resting his forearms against the handle of the buggy, lazily pushing it down the aisle. “Nah, it doesn’t work like that. Zombies are like….the walking dead. The undead? They’re corpses….but brought to life.”

An old man at the edge of the freezer section gives him the stink eye from the corner of his eye. Which is uncalled for. It’s not like he brought up the zombie conversation with a six year old. It was all her. And he would be a bad adult if he didn’t encourage her curiosity.

Morgan takes this into consideration. “So no one’s a zombie because everyone just poofed away instead of just…” she mimes a sort of choking-to-death situation, complete with closing her eyes and sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth. “...dropping dead.”

“I’m not walking around with half decomposed organs so, yeah. No zombies.”

She opens her eyes, looking Peter up and down. “Okay, but is _Spider-Man_ a zombie?”

“Why would Spider-Man, specifically, be a zombie? Did I die a _second_ time and not know about it?” he pokes her forehead. “What are you hiding, huh?”

“You said that freaky spider bit you,” she begins, dropping her voice to a respectable whisper. “And then you fell asleep for a week -”

“-okay, no, it was like...two days -”

“-like Sleeping Beauty -”

“- I _am_ beautiful, but I still don’t think -”

“- so maybe the spider bit you, you died in your sleep, and then the radioactiveness.” She pauses, clearly not proud of her word choice, but truckers on, “Brought you back to life. And now you’re a zombie.”

He clicks his tongue, shakes his head in one firm motion. “Nope. I don’t think so.”

She pouts. “You don’t actually _know.”_

“Sure I do.” He reaches over and grabs her hand, bringing it over his chest. “My heart’s still beating.”

Morgan’s hand lingers, index finger lightly scratching back and forth over his shirt. “So zombies don’t have... _beating_ hearts.”

“Pretty sure, according to the lore.”

“What’s lore?”

“Uhh, like a mythology. In this case?” When Morgan still doesn’t quite seem to get it he adds, “General set of rules people accept for things?” He moves his hands about in a roundabout, _eh_ sort of motion. “Like for zombies.”

She lets it go, moves on. “I wish you were a zombie. Then you’d probably have really cool superpowers.”

“Do you realize who you’re talking to?”

“Yeah, but, like - we don’t know a lot about zombies. Someone could cut your leg off like a cockroach -”

“- ewwwww -”

“- and you’d be fine because you’re dead but not _really_ dead. You could just keep going.”

“Not without one of my legs. I wouldn’t get very far.”

“You can swing.” She makes a noise with her mouth, blowing out a puff of air. _“Swoosh.”_

He blinks, trying to take it all in. “Sometimes talking to you is like participating in a Socratic Seminar.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

He doesn’t bother to tell her. Peter leans in closer over the buggy, giving her a wicked smile. “You are very morbid for a little girl, you know that?” 

She leans in as well, grinning back. “I’m just trying to get all the facts.”

He doesn’t blame her. Morgan’s generation is….a strange one. She’s one of a very few select kids that is always going to remember what it was like to live in a world that was always just...cut in half. She was born, literally, in the ashes of the universe’s greatest tragedy. She didn’t personally feel the loss of those lives; only the joy of finding out there were so many that came back so suddenly. Talking crudely about the decimation and its reversal isn’t her being insensitive - Peter drilled that in his head a long time ago. Half the world leaving and then coming back is just a fact for her. Something she learns in history class and has to make sense of.

They finally make it to the final aisle they need - the one with all the Pop-Tarts. He jokingly reaches for a few boxes of the blueberry before Morgan nearly topples out of the buggy trying to personally grab the cinnamon sugar ones.

“Hey, Petey?” she asks timidly, once she’s seated in the buggy and surrounded by a throne of Pop-Tarts. “You….you’re really coming to Dad’s Day, right?”

He slows down as they make it to the check-out. Morgan’s anxiety makes it so she won't look him in the eye, and instead she takes to carefully unloading the groceries from the buggy onto the conveyor belt. It’s a strange contrast to the cashier who is unknowing, smiling at the cuteness that is Morgan Stark.

“Hey,” he says softly, careful with his tone. “Hey, honey, look at me.”

She does, only slightly wary, and Peter puts on his most dazzling smile, even though the thought of who he’s replacing tears him up inside.

“Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it,” he promises, tucking some of her brown hair behind her ear. He makes a mental note to give it a trim, or at least learn a few more braids so she doesn’t have to go with her hair in her face to school.

Morgan huffs, still looking put out. “But this morning in the car, you -”

He shakes his head, cutting her off. “I didn’t mean to make you think I didn’t want to go. It just took me for a bit of a surprise, that’s all.” The cashier has run out of things to check out, but she’s amazingly patient as Peter hastens to empty the rest of the buggy. “Now is there like...an egg toss I need to prepare for? Relay race? A water balloon fight?”

“Peter.”

“Water balloon _war?_ I don’t know how serious you kindergartners take these things.”

“I’m in _first grade.”_

“So that means we’ve what? Upgraded to paintball warfare? I’m gonna annihilate your school’s rec field if there’s paintball.”

After Morgan is officially choking on her laughter, Peter manages to pay for the ingredients to their late night feast. The cashier is giving him a look, not of pity, not really - but it’s quiet and soft and a little broken all the same. She can tell there’s a piece of them missing between them, even if she doesn’t know who Morgan is and all of what her father did for the world. For the universe. For Peter, personally.

Morgan insists on carrying, like, _all_ of the groceries. Peter lets her try and fails to smother his laugh when she drops all the totes before they’ve even made it out the door. Morgan’s a fairly good sport about it, though less so when he refuses to let it go on the car ride home, and she’s completely over it by the time they get back to the apartment to start cooking. She shifts into full Bobby Flay - Pioneer Woman - Alton Brown mode and gets straight to work as Head Chef of the kitchen, bossing Peter around and making sure the burgers are perfect.

Which, they are. Like, they’re scary good. He shouldn’t be surprised, though. It’s...It’s Morgan. Morgan Stark.

Tony Stark's daughter.

Peter’s definitely requests an omelette in the morning.

Pepper calls in the middle of clean up. Morgan promises that she doesn’t mind staying with Peter, that Peter’s _the best and so fun,_ and he kinda tunes out the rest of the conversation, focusing on the warm light feeling in his chest that comes with her words.

“Can we watch a movie?” She asks when the dirty dishes are more or less shoved to one part of the counter and Pepper has wished them all goodnight. Morgan’s leaning heavily on the island, seated with her knees on the bar stool, and Peter’s right there next to her, playfully knocking her spoon away when she goes in for a bite of the ice cream that sits open between them.

“Sure,” Peter says, without so much as looking at a clock. He wasn’t lying to Pepper when he said he didn’t know Morgan’s bedtime. Besides, it’s not like he was going to get her to go to sleep anytime soon. “What movie?”

“ _Train to Busan_.”

“Train to…” It takes him a minute. “Wait, the _zombie_ movie?”

“Yeah!”

“Hell no.”

“Aw, c’mon!”

Peter groans, taking an absurdly large bite of ice cream, brain freeze be damned. “Give me one good reason why I should let a six year old girl watch an R rated violent zombie movie.”

It’s scary how fast she has her reasons all prepared. “It’s in Korean. Mom wants me to learn another language.”

Peter snorts. “You’re pitching _foreign language enrichment?”_

“Yes?”

“If you want to learn another language, I can just teach you Spanish.”

“Peterrrrrrrrrr”

“Morgaaaaaaaan,” he fires back, matching her childish whine. When she breaks out the big guns, full pout and bright, shiny, puppy-dog eyes, he laughs. “Be reasonable, kid. Yeah?” he reaches into the carton with his finger and swipes some ice cream, just enough to dot Morgan’s nose with it.

“Fine,” she agrees, and Peter laughs harder when Morgan attempts to lick the ice cream off her nose. “What about...not a movie.”

“Oh?” Peter hums, not even bothering to mask his excitement. He’ll sit on the couch and watch a movie no problem, but he can’t promise he won’t fall asleep. “Want to play Rummy? Build a fort?”

“What about a story?”

He takes one last bite of ice cream before he tosses his spoon in the sink; it lands perfectly in a dirty mug. “Sure. We gotta finish that last chapter of Harry Potter, right? So we can do that sorting quiz. Now, spoiler alert, but I’m a total -”

“No, not Harry Potter,” Morgan admits, uncharacteristically...timid. She’s got the same energy she did back at the check-out at the store. “...Iron Man.”

Peter gets a whole new kind of brain freeze.

He’s never had a problem telling Morgan stories about Spider-Man. She’s been fascinated with his mutant abilities since day one, and even when Spider-Man might have a day that’s not exactly kid friendly, there’s always some story to tell her about some silly web mess up, or a literal sticky situation he couldn’t get out of. He can amuse her by walking on the ceiling or making web hammocks, or decorating their forts with web designs. There’s always been so much to tell. Peter and Morgan...they've talked about her dad, brought him up on the occasion, but for the most part, Peter steers clear. He leaves that to Pepper, Rhodey, Happy.

But maybe that’s not fair.

There’s stories of not just Spider-Man and Iron Man, but of Peter and Tony, that Pepper, Rhodey and Happy know nothing about. The times they did science experiments in the labs, or all the goofy internship bullshit they did, or hell, the adventures they had simply because they were friends. If Peter doesn’t share those stories...no one else will ever know.

He doesn’t want to hoard them. He doesn’t want them to be forgotten. But he’s not sure he can handle reliving them, either.

Peter's not sure he can ever, ever give them the love they deserve.

It’s just not fair. Any of it.

“You….you want a story about Iron Man?”

“Please?”

He blinks. “I…” he reaches to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t...I don’t know...I can’t…”

“...Peter?”

He heaves a heavy, sad, sigh.

“I don’t know how to tell them,” Peter admits softly, brushing the hair out of Morgan’s face and behind his ear like he always, always does when he needs her to really listen. “Give me some time? And they’ll be the best stories you’ve ever heard.”

Her voice is so soft, he barely hears it. “Promise?”

He leans into her, their noses almost touching. “I promise,” and his smile, as genuine as it is, hurts a little. He presses a kiss to her hair.

“But for now…” Morgan snuggles close to him, giving him a hug. “Harry Potter?”

“Harry Potter,” Peter agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.....am making it longer
> 
> yay?
> 
> I want the end to have a bigger OOF and for that I need more "pointless fluff" so yay for you? I dunno. But I really like where I'm going in this fic it's fun to write! I just hope in the end I pull it off. We'll see!! There's a point, an ~endgame~ if you will, to all this fluff, I promise! thanks for the comments!!!! love you guys!!!! continue to leave them if you feel so inclined <3


	3. La Grenouillére

The next morning, when Morgan wakes him up with a shout of _“BREAKFAST!”,_ he sinks further into his mattress.

He didn’t sleep. Not really. For most of the night he laid perfectly still on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to come up with the perfect ways to tell the story of the time Tony pulled him out of the Hudson. Or the time he helped him from...ripping a ferry in half. Or when Spider-Man crashed a Stark Industries plane and set Coney Island on fire. Okay, not all the way on fire. But he still remembers the feeling of the burns settling in with the sand on his skin when he fell asleep on top of that roller coaster.

See, these are not fun bedtime stories.

But the mundane ones are...harder to tell. For instance, there’s the time Peter snuck up on Tony while he had a pot of hot coffee in his hand which led to Peter getting a face full of hot coffee. Peter remembers laughing at the horrified look on Tony’s face as his mentor freaked out, terrified he’d given him second degree burns or something. Remembers it like a clear blue sky.

It’s what keeps him awake.

So he stays in bed. Metaphorically slaps the snooze button on Morgan’s head and hopes that she’ll like….forget about school and breakfast and existence in its entirety for an hour. Hell, thirty minutes. All he needs is a thirty minute power nap.

Doesn’t happen.

She comes barreling into his room, jumping on his bed with enough speed to give Spider-Man a run for his money. Peter’s quick to slam a pillow on top of his head before Morgan gets the chance to squish his cheeks or tweak his nose or do whatever it is she’s planning to do to get him awake.

It leaves his back exposed; her little tiny, sharp-cornered heel digs into his kidney. “Morgan,” he whines. “Five more minutes.”

“Nope! Time to get up. I made you an omelette.”

“I’m vegan.”

“You ate a hamburger _last night!”_

“That was yesterday. Today, I’m vegan.”

“Stop lying! Get up, get up, get up!” Morgan crawls so she’s sitting on his back. “Peter, I have school.”

“Well…” he huffs from underneath the pillow. “What are you learning today?”

“I dunno.” He can practically hear her shrug. “Math?”

“What’s 7 x 6?”

“Uhh…” she hesitates for a second. “...42?”

“Sounds like you don’t need today’s math class to me.” He groans and rolls over, collecting Morgan in his arms and trapping her against him as he pulls the blankets up around them both. “Class dismissed. Let nap time commence.”

He starts fake snoring, but Morgan presses on, wiggling out of his grasp and poking incessantly at his cheek. “Peter, you have school, too.”

“Mine’s elective school, I don’t technically have to go.”

“So...does that mean _I_ don’t have to go to college?”

His eyes snap open. She’s smiling her devious Pepper Potts smile. “That’s absolutely not what I said. _You_ have to go to college. Every single class. No skippies.” He pokes her nose, and her eyes go cross-eyed following his finger. “It’s _literally_ written in the U.S constitution.”

She laughs, swatting his hand away. “Nu-uh.”

“Excuse you, that’s what that Alexander Hamilton musical is all about.”

“Is not!”

“You’re name-checked by Captain America in the second act.”

“Captain America isn’t in that play.”

“Uhhh, I’m pretty sure he is, considering he’s a Founding Father and all that.”

“Peter, _get up.”_

He does, begrudgingly, if only because he can smell that omelette. “There better be bell peppers.”

“Of course!” Morgan affirms, dragging him out by his hand. “The red ones, ‘cause you like those best.”

As it turns out, Pepper was right about the pepper omelette. It’s very delicious and a huge step up from the pancake fiasco. Truly, a Food Network star in the making. He still double checks that the stove is off and the kitchen isn’t about to somehow blow up as Morgan scarfs down her own omelette and then rushes to her room to finish getting ready.

She takes her sweet time. Peter manages to get ready himself before she emerges from her room. She returns in one of Peter’s stolen science pun tees, mismatched leggings, and light up sneakers.

Peter finishes stuffing her lunch into her backpack. “That’s the outfit you’re wearing to your Sorting Ceremony?”

Morgan rolls her eyes. “It’s a quiz. On the computer.”

“Not how I do things, missy. After school, we’re going to _Hogwarts._ For realsies. _”_

She stands her ground, hands on her hips. “I know it’s a story, Peter. It’s just pretend. Like, for _fun_?”

“Well, sure,” he agrees, smiling. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make it _extra_ fun.”

Her smile is slow and wide. Her excitement springs out of her like lightning out of Thor’s hammer, and the dark floors light up with her steps as she races over to grab her bag from Peter and start hauling him out the door. “I can’t wait! I hope I’m a Gryffindor.”

He barely manages to grab his own things before they’re out the door. “I dunno. You’re kinda like….total Slytherin material.”

“I am not!”

“We’ll let the hat decide.”

 

* * *

 

After dropping Morgan off at school, Peter sucks it up and goes to class. Even though she didn’t know he flaked out on class yesterday, _he_ knows that he did, and that’s enough to make him feel guilty. He’s gotta be a good example. No skippies.

But afterwards, it’s a straight shoot to the costume shop. Ned’s already there waiting for him, beyond excited at this whole set up they planned at 1am with Michelle over text. They planned it some time after Peter finished reading the last chapter of _The Sorcerer’s Stone_ to Morgan.

“We’re definitely getting the _nastiest_ looking witch hat in there, correct?” Ned asks. “Just straight up old age, bubonic plague aesthetic.”

The bell on the door is loud and obnoxious, and somehow in tune with Peter’s laughter as they step inside the shop. “Yes,” Peter agrees, “That or like...the kind of nasty that comes from a Lisa Frank fever nightmare. Extremes only.”

“No middle sliders.”

The costume shop is standard enough, which means it has more than enough witch hats, wands, and Hogwarts robes to go along. Peter doesn’t bother with the wand thing - he’s pretty sure after a few more Harry Potter books Morgan’s going to beg him to take her to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and they can do the whole wand thing there. Maybe, they’ll even go for her seventh birthday which, he just realizes, is in a _month._ Time really flies when -

“What are we gonna do about the robes?” Ned trails off as he looks at a surprisingly large selection of witch hats. He puts on a purple one, covered in gold stars, but it’s just not nasty enough. He takes it off and picks out another, this time putting it on Peter’s head.

“I mean, we already know our houses so we can just….get ours.” Peter says gesturing to him and Ned. He takes a peek in a small nearby mirror. Not nasty enough. He tosses it aside. “Hufflepuff buds, through and through.”

“Precisely,” and Ned starts making a mess of the hats.

“MJ’s a…” Peter pauses, face going blank. “Wait, fuck, is she a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw?”

Ned shrugs. “Call her.” His face lights up as Peter pulls out his phone to do just that. “Ooh, ask her to bring us sandwiches before she gets to the school.”

“She’s not gonna bring us _sandwiches -”_

“She will if _you_ ask her -”

“What? No, that’s -”

The phone rings only twice before Michelle answers, cutting him off. “Yeah.”

He cuts right to the chase. “I gotta buy your robe, what Hogwarts house are you?”

“Ravenclaw. I guess.”

“What do you mean _you guess?_ What did you get when you took the test?”

“I didn’t take the test.”

“You have to take the test. Text me what you get.”

Michelle groans. “Oh. So, like, this a thing. Not just a be nice to Morgan thing. A whole Peter-Ned-MJ mess around...thing.”

“Uhhh,” he drawls before he finds what is a pretty gnarly hat and tries it on. “I’m in a costume shop buying robes and hats and wands - well, maybe not wands, I think I’ll literally pick up some sticks from the park -”

“Oh my god.”

“-so yeah, it’s a whole thing.” He grins. Ned starts to tug on his sleeve, mouthing the words _sandwich._ “Which includes….sandwiches? From Delmar’s?” His voice pitches up higher in anticipation. “If you’d be so inclined?”

“Oh my god.”

He pulls the phone away so Ned can join in on their elongated, “Pleaaaase?”

“Ughhhhh. Fine.”

“Yes!” Ned cheers while Peter makes a loud kissing noise over the phone. “You’re the best, MJ.”

“I know.”

“I’ll text you the orders -”

“-A kiddie turkey sub, a number three with no mustard, and a number five. Extra pickles. _Squished down flat._ I know you nerds. _”_

Peter doesn’t have anything to say to that. He smiles, and figures she knows that’s what he’s doing.

“See?” she says softly. “This is why I’m a Ravenclaw. See you soon, Parker.”

“Go ahead and get MJ the Ravenclaw robe,” Peter says, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He’s pretty sure she won’t be texting him any other result. “And then for Morgan…we’ll just get one for each house. Just in case.”

Ned rolls his eyes. “It’s not like she’s gonna get _Slytherin.”_

“Probably not. But you never know. Plus, we’ve got our whole angle of...” he waves his hands about. “Fanfare and spectacle and all that other jazz. It’ll be good.”

Ned starts sifting through the kid sized robes. “As you wish. It’s your money.”

“That’s cute. But it’s Pepper’s money.”

“At this point, I’m inclined to believe it’s all one in the same.”

Ned, unfortunately, has a point. Peter tries to forget about it since the whole concept is overwhelming and all-consuming, but...Tony left Peter a large chunk of Stark Industries to him. Like, a huge chunk of it.

Like, all of it.

At first he was shocked, especially when he learned about Morgan and her whole existence. And while Pepper expressed that Morgan would be a part of Stark Industries, that eventually they would both share it, they didn’t...particularly know if her mind was wired for science like his is. Not to say that she isn’t smart, because she is. Morgan’s _brilliant,_ but she’s also six years old right now. Maybe she wants to grow up and be a painter. Or a teacher. Or a chef. Tony didn’t want to necessarily tie Morgan to an expected image and put that pressure on her so, as Pepper explained, he expressed that if anything happened to him in their fight with Thanos and Peter came back, that they prep _him_ to take over until she’s old enough to decide if she wants to work in the company. Because he’s the one with the mind wired for all things science, he’s the one with the superhero resume, he’s the one Tony _knew_ could do it. That would want to. Tony trusted Peter.

So it’s a lot.

But he’s not ready to take over and Pepper’s not ready to step down, so it’s something he can ignore for now. Which he does.

Because if he dwells on it too long, he’ll start dreaming about failing before he even _starts._

And that’s just not good.

“Uh-oh,” Ned says, pulling him out of his thoughts when he friend waves his hand in front of his hand. “Lost you there for a second. Did I open a mental can of worms?”

“Nooooo,” Peter says with an exaggerated shake of his head. “Just trying to remember all the numbers to my massive, Iron Man bank account.”

Ned shoots him a look like he doesn’t believe him. Which he shouldn’t. But the show must go on.

So Peter finds the winner of the Ugly Hat Contest and puts it on his head: a giant mess of dark purples and greys that’s just the right amount of tacky they need.

“Ding ding ding?” he asks, putting two thumbs up. “Do we have a winner?”

Ned relents, shoulders sagging. Offers his own thumbs up. “We have a winner.”

They pay for their stuff and the cashier doesn’t bat an eye because it’s _New York._ It’s definitely not the weirdest purchase that guy’s seen. Once they’re outside, Peter dumps all the bags in Ned’s unsuspecting hands and grabs two things - his Hufflepuff robe and a long wand-shaped _case_ of sorts that he grabbed at the check-out, ready to hold the perfect stick.

“I gotta go get Morgan,” he says, slipping the robe on over his clothes. Ned watches with fascination as Peter ties the matching tie quickly and without looking, something as simple as tying shoelaces. “I’ll meet you at the school.”

“You’re gonna walk around the city in a costume?”

Peter grins. “How’s it any different than Spider-Man?”

 

* * *

 

“Are you ready? I don’t think you’re ready.”

Morgan’s been giggling her head off ever since she saw Peter walk through her classroom door in his Hufflepuff robe. He barely managed to get her out of the school and all the way to Midtown where he can do the first step of his Very Cool Sorting Hat Ceremony.

They’re on the front stops when he pulls out a semi-ornate box, all silver and gold with cheap jewels on the top (one’s _already_ fallen off). “You’re a witch, Morgan,” he tells her in his best Hagrid impression and Morgan giggles some more, grabbing the box.

She completely loses it when she opens it and pulls out, yes, a stick from the park. But it’s a cool stick. The coolest stick ever.

“That’s a very special wand,” Peter says seriously. “It’s infused with special magic. Made from the bark of the…” he hesitates, thinking. “...Grandmother Willow tree.”

Morgan squints at him. “...From _Pocahontas?”_

“Yeah. You heard me. The Grandmother Willow tree from Pocahontas is in your wand. It’s really cool.” He pulls out his own _wand,_ a decidedly less cool stick from the park. “All I got was Groot’s pinky finger.”

“Peter!”

“What?”

Technically, Peter’s probably not supposed to be wandering his old high school after school hours but it’s not like the faculty...really care. He spots familiar faces on their way to the gym, teachers who were well acquainted with his frequent absences and tardies, but liked him all the same. Besides, after the snap, people are a little less uptight. The school is free for them to use as a Hogwarts masquerade.

When they get to the gym, the whole place is pretty much empty besides a rack of basketballs, Ned in a Hufflepuff robe by some makeshift announcer’s table, and a lone fold up chair on the half-court line, the ugly witch hat on top of it. There’s four robes hanging off the table, one for each house, in Morgan’s size.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, young witch!” Ned bellows. He’s got a tablet in his hand and waves around a stylus like it’s a wand. “I hope you’re ready for your exam. It’s probably the most important test you’ll ever take.”

“Besides the SAT,” Peter adds on. “Because college. Remember?”

Morgan ignores him and simply runs up to the chair. She swipes the hat, puts it on her head, and sits, eagerly awaiting the first question. Peter linger behind, eyes drifting to the top of the gymnasium to try and spot MJ in the sound booth. That was part of the mission. Either she or Ned had to break in and take over the PA system, but he can’t spot a single strand of her curly hair.

There is, however, a very small cough followed by a gentle sway of the tablecloth that covers the table on the gym floor.

The thought of MJ hiding under a table for some Harry Potter shenanigans almost makes him burst out laughing.

“Okay, first question,” Ned says, scrolling through the Pottermore quiz. “Moon or Stars?”

Morgan scrunches her nose. “What kind of question is that?”

“I didn’t write the ancient text, kiddo, I just administer them. Answer it.”

“...Stars?”

“Alrighty.” He checks it off on the tablet. “When you’re…” Ned hesitates, “uh, dead, what do you want people to do when people think about you?”

After he reads off all the choices, Morgan’s answer is instantaneous. “Tell stories about my adventures! Just like people do with Dad!”

Something in Peter’s heart breaks.

Maybe Ned’s, too. His enthusiasm is slow to come back as he goes through the next few questions. They all get their laughs back when Ned asks her about the four boxes set in front of them and she chooses the plain one with the words _I only open for the worthy_ and she answers with, “I could probably lift Thor’s hammer, so I can definitely open that box.”

“Next question,” Ned wheezes out, still laughing. “If you could have any superpower, which would you -”

“Spider-Man!” she yells before Ned has a chance to read off the answers. He cackles again. “Whichever one is closest to Spider-Man.”

“That would be…” Ned pretends to mull it over. “...Talk to animals.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “For the last time, Ned, I can’t talk to spiders.”

“I think you’re lying, but fine.” He looks over the choices again. “Super strength is the closest we got to Spidey powers, you good with that, Morgan?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Okay, next question...You and your friends need to cross a bridge guarded by a river troll. He insists that one of you fight him before you can cross. What do you do?”

After Ned reads off all the scenarios, Morgan doesn’t hesitate. “Volunteer to fight!”

Peter’s smile is soft. “That’s very brave of you, Morgan.”

“Well, yeah! Dad taught us to be brave, remember?”

Oh, does Peter remember.

His mind wanders a bit as Ned finishes the questions, unable to help thinking about Tony’s sacrifice. He volunteered, sure; but God, he hopes they can create a world where Morgan will never feel like she has to as well.

“Okay!” Ned finally announces, thrusting his arms out to make his robes billow and flow. “The test is finished. The results are pending.” He walks up to Morgan and makes sure the witch hat is snug on her head. “Now it’s up to the Sorting Hat.”

The tablecloth moves again before there’s a soft sigh that comes over the PA system. “Hello,” Michelle’s disembodied voice echoes throughout the gym. Morgan immediately starts giggling. “Alright, let me just -” there’s the distinct sound of her hitting her head. “ _Ow, fuck.”_

“Mouth!” Ned and Peter both shout.

“Excuse you,” she grunts out. “The Sorting Hat can say whatever she pleases. Okay. Let’s see…” There’s another pause, something that sounds like _chewing -_ “I think -”

Peter doesn’t care if it ruins the illusion. “Hold up,” he cackles, looking at the ceiling as if he were talking to FRIDAY. Come to think of it, Michelle’s voice would definitely make an amusing AI. “Are you eating a sandwich?”

“I’m a timeless relic of magic and wisdom. Also, a hat. I don’t eat sandwiches.”

“I think the hat is definitely eating a Delmar’s sandwich.” Ned agrees.

“Can the mediocre wizards in the room please shut their mouths? I’m trying to sort the greatest witch of our generation here.”

“Sorry,” Peter wheezes. He looks at Morgan, who has her hand covering her mouth in a stifled giggle and winks. “Continue, oh great Sorting Hat.”

“As I was saying.” she clears her throat. “The results are very clear. No one’s got nerves of steel like you, kid. You’re a Gryffindor.”

Morgan cheers, and jumps up, clearly happy with that decision. “Yes! I _knew_ I was cool enough to be a Gryffindor.”

Peter continues to smile as Ned helps her with her Gryffindor robe, leaving the tie for Peter. As she stands perfectly still for his as he ties the knot, Michelle emerges from under the table, wearing her Ravenclaw robe and holding a bag of sandwiches from Delmar’s as promised. She passes hers to Ned and then _chucks_ Peter and Morgan’s, banking on him catching them despite the terrible throw.

Which, he does. He’s Spider-Man.

“Nice catch!” Morgan compliments as he carefully unwraps their subs.

“Well, duh,” Peter scoffs. Morgan takes a huge bite and shredded pieces of lettuce fall out all on the floor. Whoops. “I wasn’t kidding about smoking all the other parents at the egg toss. I’m in it to win it.”

Michelle lifts a brow. “Egg toss?”

“For Dad’s Day!” Morgan butts in before Peter can effectively pivot the conversation. “My teacher said I can bring Peter!”

Ned and Michelle look at him like they’re waiting for Peter’s head to explode.

Joke’s on them. He’s already mastered hiding his freak out. Sort of. At least, his head isn’t going to explode.

“It’s gonna be great!” Peter adds, and he prays his voice isn’t reminiscent of his nervous, fifteen-year-old teenage days. He runs over to the side of the court, abandoning his sub in Ned’s hands along the way, and picks up a basketball. He starts dribbling it. “Miss Sadie’s class won’t know what hit them - I was a sports legend back in high school.”

Michelle snorts a laugh out her nose.

“Really?” Morgan asks, looking him up and down like she doesn’t know he can lift, like, ten tons anytime, anyplace. It’s kind of rude, really. She sets her own food aside as well. “‘Cause May said you were really nerdy in high school.”

“Oh for sure,” Ned says. He walks over to the table and sets their food on it before searching for the microphone. As he takes a seat, Michelle joins him on the other side, looking the part of two very enthusiastic sports commentators.

“Peter was a real jock,” Michelle says, her voice dripping with so much sarcasm it could be classified as another language entirely.

Ned is far nicer in playing along. “Star player of the varsity basketball team!” Ned begins. “Peter won us the championship. You better _recognize._ Man, I remember - I remember it like it was _yesterday,”_ He says into the microphone. “It was the biggest play of all time. There were ten seconds left on the clock.”

Morgan backs up, giggling as Peter starts giving a little more spectacle in his dribbling. The robe get in the way a bit, but he manages, even doing that silly trick where you spin the ball on your finger.

“The Midtown….” Ned leans away from the microphone and Peter can hear him whisper to Michelle, “What was our mascot?”

“You’re asking me? I don’t fucking know -”

He goes back to the mic, cutting her off. “The Midtown uhhh _Robots -”_ He pauses with an exaggerated shrug as Peter howls with laughter at the made up name. “Were down by two points. Peter was our last hope. Everyone else was down court. We needed one sick Space Jam worthy, _slam dunk_ to tie up the game _-”_

“So I hustled,” Peter finishes as he dribbles down court. “Passed all the players-”

“Allllll the players -”

“- went in for the lay up and it was _gold_ baby! Olympic Gold!”

Peter aims and shoots -!

-and misses.

Ned’s laughter is poorly smothered as Peter hustles to pick up the ball. “But it wasn’t over. Oh, it wasn’t over!” Ned says into the microphone. “Peter got the ball again, dribbled it back up to that third point line -”

“But it wasn’t enough! It wasn’t enough,” Peter shouts, walking and dribbling backwards to the half court line. “I knew what had to be done.”

“The crowds were cheering so loud I’m _still_ concussed from the noise. Peter! Peter! Peter!-”

“I was gonna fly. I was gonna _fly!”_

Michelle finally puts in her two cents. “They called him Peter Pan.”

Ned cackles in agreement. “Peter _Pan_ , baby! And he was about to do the half court shot. His signature. He wound up his arm and then -”

Peter does just that. He takes the ball, pulls back as far as he can, and just _lobs_ it across the gym from half court.

The ball flies over the basket. Way over. Way, way over.

And shatters a light on the ceiling.

This time, it’s Michelle’s laughter that echoes off through the gym.

He looks to Morgan, who is somehow the most composed person in the room. “You wouldn’t happen to know a spell that could fix that, would you?”

Morgan waves her wand about, grinning. “Sorry. Looks like you’re gonna have to pay for it.”

“Damn.”

“Mouth.”

“Sorry.”

Ned gets a hold of himself, eventually. “God, even after the spider bite you _still_ would have never made the team.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. “Not even Ben could have saved you.”

Peter throws his head back and lets out a short laugh. “Aw, man. Now _that_ I really remember like it was yesterday.” He turns to Morgan to give her the full story. “It was hilarious Morgan, you should have seen it. Ned and I _desperately_ wanted to start a quidditch team, ironically enough.” He tugs on his robes. “And Ben was always supportive of our nerd endeavors but even he knew that one would have gotten our asses _literally_ kicked -”

“- so he tried spending the entire summer before sixth grade trying to teach us basketball instead. As a respectable, non ass-kicking worthy hobby,” Ned finishes.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. He grabs another ball from the sidelines and starts messing around with it, casually dribbling it between his hands. “Needless to say, it didn’t really _stick._ But man. I can still hear the squeak of that basket. The court right behind my old apartment. We played for hours. I broke my glasses... three times that summer?”

“Four!”

“Four times!” Peter smiles. “Once was because Ben accidentally tossed the ball directly in my face. Oh, the guilt! I can still picture his face.”

“Even though you couldn’t see.”

“Even though I couldn’t see. It was that powerful. My nose bled a little, I think. He brought us the biggest ice cream sundae imaginable as a truce. Bigger than my head, it was crazy -”

“Who’s Ben?”

The basketball drops out of Peter’s hands.

Sometimes, when Peter gets a spike of adrenaline, his senses go a little haywire. Usually, it’s when he’s swinging from skyscrapers, but not always.

Yeah, not always.

His head fills with a loud ringing noise, the sound of an oncoming migraine of sorts, but there’s no pain. His head feels light and his chest empty. Almost like he can’t breathe. God, can he breathe? Is he breathing? It’s like there’s no _air_ and, and, and - the colors of the gym swarm and blur, the lines looking something out of a Kandinsky -

And then the world rights itself. He blinks and everything’s normal. His ears aren’t ringing, there’s nothing really _wrong -_

Except there is.

“I’m sorry?” Peter asks, the words coming out in a disbelieving huff. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Morgan looks appropriately lost at Peter’s behavior. “Who’s Ben?” she says again, and it’s like a knife to Peter’s chest.

How he finds his voice, he doesn’t know. But when he does it’s soft, almost wounded.

“Ben was my uncle.”

The realization was slow. “Oh,” she says back, just as soft. “Right. He was married to May. A long time ago, right?”

_A long time ago, right?_

Is it? Is it really?

For Morgan, he supposes it is.

“Yeah,” he croaks out. His eyes are glassy, despite his efforts. God, how could he do this? How could Morgan not _know…_

He tries really had not to cry.

“Ben raised me,” he goes on. “He and May, they _raised_ me. Taught me all the things I needed to know until…”

Ben’s face, pale white, already a ghost, flashes in his mind. He remembers the red that tricked out of the corner of his mouth, remembers the feel of his calloused hand clasped on the back of Peter’s neck as he lay in the sidewalk, hurt, in pain, _dying -_

And then he sees Tony. Burned half to hell, eyes wide and stunned like he was looking death in the eye, unafraid. He remembers the parting of his lips, words unspoken, the ragged smile he gave Pepper when she told him to _rest -_

Peter closes his eyes and wonders what he did to deserve this.

“...until he died.”

He feels Morgan’s hands in his hair. He doesn’t remember folding his legs and sitting on the gym floor, but that’s where he is. “I’m sorry,” Morgan says, because what else is there to say?

Peter has never, _ever_ forgotten Ben. And even though he knows that pain, all kinds of pain, often dull with time...God, he should have done better than this. He should have talked about him more, he should...he should…

He will never let Ben be forgotten. He will never let _Tony_ be forgotten. Especially by Morgan.

Never by Morgan.

“That’s okay,” he whispers, voice impossibly hoarse. “I guess I never mention him much, huh?”

Morgan just blinks and swipes at Peter’s cheeks for tears with a blank face.

“I’ll tell you all about him,” he says. “Your dad and everything Iron Man too, okay? Anytime you want a story, you - you can ask me.”

She tilts her head, looking at him. “Even if it makes you sad?”

“Yeah, baby.” He tucks some hair behind her ear. “Even if it makes me sad. It’s okay. I promise.”

She crawls into his lap, giving him a hug and kissing his cheek. “Okay,” she agrees. “If you’re sure."

He kisses her cheek in return. "I'm sure."

"Can you finish the basketball story? Teach _me_ how to play? Like Ben taught you!”

Even with Peter’s super strength, it takes all he’s got just to get back on his feet. But once he’s there, it’s not so bad.  “You got it. We just need…” he looks over at where Ned and Michelle are watching them. “...two willing participates.”

Ned’s hand shoots up. “I volunteer as tribute!”

Michelle rolls her eyes, but raises her hand as well. “Wrong book series, losers.”

"Excellent!" Peter claps his hands, rubbing his palms together. “Okay, first lesson - slam dunks, obviously.” He puts the ball in Morgan’s hands before he lifts her up by the waist and runs towards the basket. “Catch us if you can!”

Surprisingly, Michelle does manage to swat the ball out of Peter and Morgan’s hands. Like, five times. Stupid tall girls. But man, he really does suck at basketball, spider bite be damned.

But eventually, they get it. She scores.

They celebrate with finishing the story of Coach Ben and eating the largest ice cream sundae money can buy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: has only seen the first harry potter movie while drugged up after surgery in the hospital  
> also me: writes entire chapter about it
> 
> I consulted others who are more versed in harry potter to tell me what house they would all be, and those were the results. I shall take no criticism for my choice. but peter is a serious hufflepuff/gryffindor cusp and that's the tea. (if anyone leave a comment and ONLY talks about what house they should be sorted in...I will...bite you lmfao)
> 
> ANYWAY double length chapter yay you!!! I'm doing the write, I'm making the story, we're having a good, good time, yes? hopefully fun and warm but a little sad too, yeah? thanks for all the comments and kudos it's so great I'm glad you guys like it! continue to leave them if your heart desires <3 <3 <3


	4. The Stroll

Morgan starts to fall asleep on the walk home.

It’s an amusing sight. Peter and Michelle each have one of her hands as they walk, which is helpful in keeping her upright considering she keeps tripping over her own feet. Sometimes she’ll lean into Peter with lidded eyes, sometimes Michelle, but they always close completely when they stand at a crosswalk waiting for a light.

Two blocks from their apartment, Morgan gives up. She lets go of Michelle’s hand and lifts it limply in the air. “Can you carry me, Peter?” she yawns. “I’m tired.”

He bites his lip, trying not to smile as she sways a little in her sleepiness, about to fall right on her keister. “I dunno. That’s a lot of work. I’m tired too, you know.”

“You don’t get tired. You’re a superhero.”

“Superheroes get tired.”

“But you hardly ever _ sleep _ !”

He decidedly ignores Michelle’s piercing glare. His sleeping habits, much like Tony’s were, always seem to be one of her and Ned’s top concerns when it comes to him. Instead, he leans down, eyes squinted in feigned anger. “Hey now. You’re giving away top Avengers secrets. That’s a 20 year sentence in the dungeon. Which means absolutely no more ice cream.  _ Ever.” _

Morgan rubs her eyes. “Fine.” Another yawn. “Ice cream makes me sleepy.”

“That’s just the sugar coma talking.”

“Peter,” she whines, too tired to keep up with his bullshit.

“Okay, okay,” he says quietly. He goes to pick her up, hands underneath her arms, but then lets out a strained grunt, pretending like she’s so heavy he can’t even lift her an inch off the ground. “Oh my god. You’re so heavy. How much ice cream did you eat?”

She whines again and Peter drops the act, picking her up in one swift motion. “Just kidding. I’m so strong.” Morgan latches on to him, legs around his waist and arms around his neck, and is quick to lay her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she breathes out, chocolate scented breath fanning against his face.

“You’re welcome.” He passes some of his things behind to Ned, giving him a grateful smile. “Comfy?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good. We’re almost home, bug. Try to stay awake?”

“Mhmm.”

She definitely doesn’t stay awake. She sleeps to the tune of Ned and Michelle’s chatter as they finish the two blocks to his place. Peter’s actually impressed she stays asleep when he does the embarrassing pat down of his pants trying to find his keys. It takes Michelle pulling back what seems to be fifty layers of Hufflepuff robe like some oversized great room curtain before she finally gets them out of his back pocket, mumbling something about  _ some great Spider-Man he is. _

He’s got the keys in the lock when he notices the faint yellow light of the living room lamp spilling out from the bottom of the door, combined with the smell of coffee. Not an intruder, because his spider-sense is really good at that sort of thing these days, but it still leaves a large number of people he knows that could be in his house...making coffee. Well, not a large number. A handful? Man, he’s given a lot of people in his life a spare key. But who -

He must stand there a little too long lost in his thoughts, because the next thing he hears is May’s voice from inside. “It’s just us, Pete. Come on in.”

He does, Morgan in his arms and Michelle and Ned at his heel. Ned trips over Happy’s suitcase by the door while Michelle smoothly avoids tripping over  _ Ned,  _ and the whole thing has Happy snorting at the sight.

“Where have you guys been?” May asks. 

“Ice cream,” Peter answers in short. “What are you guys doing here? I thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow.”

“Bad weather coming. Didn’t want to get stuck a few more days, so we flew back early.” Happy whispers, nodding to the clock. 10:43 PM. “Y’know, it’s way past bedtime.”

Peter grins. “I’m a grown up now. I don’t  _ have  _ a bedtime.”

Happy rolls his eyes. “I meant  _ her.” _

“She doesn’t have a bedtime either. I don’t think. I was never informed.”

Peter swears he can see Happy’s beard peppering with more grey with every word he says. It gives him a warm and fuzzy feeling. Like a cup of late night coffee.

He stares longingly at his favorite Hulk mug, pushing Michelle’s inevitable lecture about caffeine consumption and decent sleep hours to the back of his mind. He’s an adult. He doesn’t have a bedtime. He can stay up past  _ midnight  _ like the cool kids.

But in order to do that, he needs to get the rugrat to bed. “Hey, Morgan,” he whispers in her ear. He pets her head, thinks about sticking his finger in her ear for revenge, then decides against it. “Look who came home early.”

Morgan lifts her head, eyes lidded and barely open, but she still gives their surprise visitors a smile. “Hi, Happy.”

Happy softens immediately. “Hey, sweetie. Did you have a fun day with Pete?”

She lays her head back down on Peter’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Yes,” she answers around a yawn. “We had a Sorting Ceremony. Then we played basketball. I’m a Gryffindor.”

Happy pours coffee in a third mug before asking Michelle and Ned if they’d like some; they both accept. “Sounds like fun,” he tells Morgan. “Wish I could have been there.”

Peter grins. “Me too. A Hagrid would have been a  _ great addition.” _

As Morgan giggles into his shirt, Happy mouths a firm  _ Fuck You  _ at him. Peter gives himself a mental pat on the back before he sets Morgan on the floor. She whines, rubbing at her eyes, but stays on her feet.

“Go get ready for bed,” Peter tells her, dropping a kiss on her head. “Brush all those teeth, comb all those hairs, the works. When you’re done, I’ll come and tuck you in okay?”

Morgan nods, dragging her feet down the hall to the bathroom at an agonizingly slow pace. On her way she passes May who is seated in the sofa. His aunt gently grabs Morgan by the crook of her elbow and pulls her in for a hug, whispering something in her ear. Whatever it is perks her up  _ significantly,  _ and she runs down the hall at roadrunner speed.

“I almost had her,” Peter laments, vaulting over the coffee table to sit by his aunt. He sprawls himself out, head in her lap. “She was gonna go to sleep, no questions asked. You ruined it.” He grins, despite his tone. “What’d you tell her?”

He notices Ned has stolen his Hulk mug as he takes a seat on the chair adjacent to the sofa, but the feeling of May scratching her nails in his scalp prevents him from throwing any sort of fit. “That I brought her a souvenir.”

Happy and Michelle come over with their own cups of coffee. He hands one to May, and Peter notices there is a distinct lack of a mug for him.

Judging by the stern look in Michelle’s eyes, the same one he got when Morgan spilled the beans about not sleeping, he won’t be getting any coffee tonight.

Booo.

“I hope you brought me a souvenir,” Peter hums, closing his eyes. “Pepper’s already bringing me a No Face from Japan, so you have a lot of competition.”

“Oh, I got her beat. Got you the finest pile of sand Aruba has to offer,” Happy quips.

“He’s lying,” May whispers, brushing back some of Peter’s hair that curls around his ear. “He walked the beach for an hour one morning looking for the coolest seashells for you guys.”

“Awww,” Peter coos, teasing. But his smile is small, genuine. It really is cute. Something Morgan would like, something Morgan would  _ do _ . Peter’s always been a little childish at heart, but there’s something simplistic that a kid Morgan’s age brings to the table. There’s something light in her heart that Peter just outgrew - age, life experience, superheroing, he isn’t sure what did it in. But it’s nice to see it’s influence in everyone else’s life: Sorting ceremonies and seashell hunts.

He already can’t wait for the seashells. “Thanks, Hap,” he yawns, eyes still closed.

He barely hears Happy’s defeated, “...yeah, yeah, kid. You’re welcome.”

Peter’s apartment is cozy and warm; or maybe that’s just the soft material of May’s sweater, the sleeve of which keeps brushing against his hairline. Whatever it is, it’s like a shot of NyQuil. It’s like May’s nails are pumping melatonin into his scalp with every comforting scratch. God, maybe coffee is overrated. He could fall asleep right here, right now. Have Ned or someone tell Morgan’s bedtime story. Surely she won’t mind…

He lets out a long, tired breath. But the good kind. The kind you give after a satisfying day. 

Then, he falls asleep.

* * *

When he wakes up, the apartment is dark.

Ned and Michelle are gone. Happy, too. But Aunt May is still there. In fact, she’s fallen asleep upright on the couch, head lolled to the side, one hand still threaded in Peter’s hair while he’s slept with his head in her lap.

“Hey,” he whispers, hoping his voice is enough to wake her. She’s not the calmest when she’s startled awake. “May, wake up.”

She does with a soft, sharp breath. Peter immediately goes to lay a steady hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s just me.” He says. “We fell asleep.”

Even in the dark, he knows she’s smiling. She drops a kiss on his head. “You fell asleep first.”

Peter cranes his head to catch the time.  _ 4:02AM.  _ “You should have woken me,” he berates, giving her shoulder a soft, playful shove. “Your neck is gonna hurt.”

She shrugs. “Worth it. You needed the rest. I feel like it’s been  _ years  _ since I’ve seen you sleep. You’re always doing schoolwork, or side tech projects, or  _ Spider-Man _ .”

“What can I say? That spider changed my DNA. I need as much sleep as…” His sleepy mind blanks. “...as something that doesn’t need any sleep.”

May huffs out a laugh. “Very convincing argument.”

Peter grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eye like a child. He cranes his neck again, this time over the back of the couch to look down the hall. “Morgan go to bed okay?”

“Yes, yes. Happy tucked her in. Then he dropped Ned and Michelle off on his way home.” May moves around, but not enough to make Peter sit up, and stretches for the blanket folded on the back of the couch. He’s silent as his aunt wraps him up, tucks him in like he’s going to sleep there the rest of the night.

Before he can get a word in, May starts running her hand through his hair again. “Go back to sleep, Petey. It’s okay.”

He’s heard that before. Not only those exact words, but in this exact scenario. When his parents died, when Ben died, hell even a few nights after Tony passed. May has been a master at keeping the bad dreams away. It’s like her hands are magic, capable of casting spells and good dreams. It’s then he realizes it’s something more than just metaphorical NyQuil and melatonin. And even though he isn’t plagued by bad dreams, not in the slightest, it’s like she knows something’s up. Like she knows he needs her in some same capacity. 

May’s good like that.

“May?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Did you and Ben ever feel like you were replacing my parents?”

Her hand stills.

His heart hammers in his chest in worry. He’s...never really outright asked her that before. There’s some vague memory that he asked  _ Ben,  _ like during one of their man-to-man talks that they tried to have when Peter was just ten years old. He remembers being so young but desperately trying to already become a part of the adult world, to try and understand it. But sometimes his memories bleed into wistful dreams, and he doesn’t know what was hope and what really happened.

He doesn’t really know what answer he expected, but he’s still shocked when she answers.

“Yes. Yes, we did.”

He waits.

“You were little, honey.” She whispers. “So little. Six years old. You didn’t need just people to watch over you and keep you alive. You needed people to guide you, raise you, help you become who you are. You needed  _ parents.  _ We’re not Mary and Richard, we never tried to be. We were always just _ us _ . But I think it worked out pretty well, don’t you think? Your Mary’s son, always will be. But you’re my son, too.”

Peter is suddenly overwhelmed with memories: the first time he brought him a Mother’s Day card for May when he was ten years old, all the times Ben came to his parent-teacher conferences, the Sunday day trips to science museums in middle school. And there’s just...so much more. It’s the tip of the iceberg. The fact is that his childhood memories all have the same three factors: Peter, Ben and May.

And Ben and May’s faces are clear in his mind, high definition with all the best pixels. He remembers Ben like he just saw him yesterday. But Mary’s and Richard’s faces are...weathered. Sepia toned. From another time.

So what if Morgan can’t remember the name of his uncle who she never met? Peter can barely remember his own father’s  _ face. _

A tear rolls down his cheek before he can catch himself.

Even in the dark, May knows he’s crying. Because she’s right. She raised him. She is, for all intents and purposes, his mother.

And he loves her dearly for taking that title. 

“Hey, hey,” she shushes gently, wiping away his tear with her thumb. “You’re okay.”

“I know,” Peter hiccups, making a poor attempt to wipe his nose. “I know, I just. You’re right. You’re my mom. In my head you are. I know I never call you that -”

“Peter, we never expected that from you. That’s not how you met us, we know -”

He shakes his head, cutting her off. “I love you so much. I’m so thankful. But. It’s just...I don’t remember what Mom and Dad look like. Not really.” he admits.

May doesn’t really know what to say to that. She tries to soothe him before he completely breaks down. And it works. Her fingers massage his scalp as she whispers comforting nothings to him. 

“I mentioned Ben to Morgan today and she didn’t remember who he was,” Peter spills, but his secrets feel more and more like they’re for the darkness itself than just for her. “And like, why should she? She never met him. But  _ May.  _ I was her age when I lost Mom and Dad. She was younger when she lost Tony. What if...What if she -”

She doesn’t let him finish. “Morgan will  _ never  _ forget Tony. The people in her life love her too much to let her. Besides. His face has been everywhere, is  _ still  _ everywhere. Couldn’t forget a mug like that if we tried.”

Peter chokes out a laugh for her benefit, but it falls flat. He stares up at the ceiling, eyes adjusted to the dark, and wishes he still had those glow in the dark star stickers that he had when he was a kid. For a brief moment he remembers sticking them up on the wall with Ben, trying to get the constellation shapes just right.

And then the memory shifts, bleeds new colors. He remembers the virtual planetarium Tony built one weekend for him at the lab, the stars dancing like dust at his fingertips.

And then he remembers space. Titan. The stars actually at his fingers, his fingers actually  _ dust - _

“This is hard,” he whispers, keeping it vague. He doesn’t quite know what  _ this  _ is, but it’s tinged with the pain of loss all the same.

“It gets easier,” May whispers back, just as vague. Whatever  _ it  _ is, is tinged with hope. “You’ve done so well, honey. Keeping your heart open. It’s not an easy thing to do.”

Peter swallows, his throat tight.

She drops another kiss on his head. “Family is more than blood. It’s what we’ve built. You still have a great one. Just keep doing what you’re doing. You love people  _ just right.  _ You’ll have more sunny days than rainy ones, I promise.”

He reaches up, pushes May’s glasses up the bridge of her nose. Even in the darkness, he feels the sunshine, the happiness. The love. “You always know just what to say.”

“Moms usually do.”

With a soft sigh he wills himself to lean up, the blanket falling off his shoulders. He ignores his Aunt’s protests as he gently nudges her to lie down on the sofa to take his spot. As he finishes wrapping the throw around he, he crouches by the sofa, kissing her cheek goodnight. “You gonna be okay out here? You can have my bed if you want.”

“I’m already tucked in,” she chuckles lightly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll go with you to take Morgan to school, okay?”

Peter nods, reaching forward to take her glasses off and set them on the side table. “Sounds good. Night.”

Logically, he knows he should pass Morgan’s room and go straight to his. But...he doesn’t. A part of him feels guilty for not tucking her in like he promised. So he sneaks in, hoping not to wake her. But as he’s adjusting the blanket she’s already kicked off in her sleep, she stirs. 

“Peter?” she whines sleepily. “That you?”

“Hey, kiddo,” he whispers. “I was just checking on you.” He tucks the blanket extra tight around her for good measure. “Sorry I didn’t tuck you in.”

“That’s okay,” Morgan says, already much more awake. “Happy said you needed to sleep. He told me a really good bedtime story. And!” she messes up his good bed-tucking technique by lunging to her side table and grabbing a small, but perfectly intact, scallop shaped seashell. “He and May brought me this from the beach! It’s from the other side of the  _ world!  _ Isn’t that cool?”

“Very cool,” he agrees but he puts a finger to his lips. “But let’s keep it down. Aunt May is still asleep on the couch.”

“Oops!” she covers her mouth for a second. “Sorry.” She crawls back under the covers and Peter gets to work with tucking her back in. But he can feel her staring at him. Studying him. “Peter. Did you have a bad dream?”

He looks up at her, frowning. “Huh?”

She reaches up and gently pats his cheek, still damp with a few tears. “You were crying.”

“Oh. Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” He turns his head and catches her hand, kissing her palm. 

“You don’t cry for  _ nothing.”  _ She scoffs. “You cry if you’re sad. Or scared. Are you scared?”

He doesn’t have the heart to outright tell her. He doesn’t think he can take another outright heart-to-heart. So he settles for some sort of vague, half-truth. “Something like that.”

She ruins his perfect bed-tucking  _ again,  _ turning down the comforter and patting the side of her bed. “Mommy lets me sleep in her bed when I have a scary dream. It helps! Come on.”

She’s looking at him so sweetly, even with the reflection of the sleepless city of New York casting funny light and shadows on her face, that he just can’t say no. He crawls into bed with her, well aware he’s still in his day clothes and his Hufflepuff robe. Morgan doesn’t seem to mind, and he lets her finish tucking them both in before she snuggles up next to him, face to face. 

Morgan takes his cheeks in both her little palms, squishing them together. “You’re okay,” she says with a seriousness a six year old should not possess. “The bad dreams won’t get you here.” She kisses him quick, right on his nose. “That’s what Mom always does.”

“Ahh,” Peter agrees quietly, eyes already closing. “Moms always know what to say.”

They fall asleep. 

There are no bad dreams.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more emotionally charged chapter. sorry that they aren't more funnies. I had more notes in mind but I've forgotten it. we're over halfway done. happy mother's day may parker and pepper potts, my fave mcu mommas.


	5. The Cliff Walk at Pourville

Peter wakes up the next morning when Morgan pinches his nose.

“Kid,” he whines pathetically as he turns his head, rubbing his nose into his pillow. His ears pick up on the sounds of May bustling around in the kitchen, bacon sizzling on the pan and fresh coffee brewing in its pot. Also Morgan's insane morning laughter. “Five more minutes.”

Morgan climbs on top of him and he whines again. It seems she’s been up for awhile, her hair damp from a morning bath that May must have helped her with. “Nope! Get up, get up, get up!”

He groans, trying to turn away from her but it’s hard in Morgan’s twin bed. She keeps treating his back like it’s a drum kit, playfully patting her hands in hopes that it will annoy him into getting ready for the day.

He keeps his head buried in the pillow, but move it just enough to give her _one_ stink eye. “Five more minutes,” he pleads once more.

“Nu-uh.”

“If you leave, I’ll give you two thousand dollars.”

Morgan’s face screws up in confusion. “...What would I do with two thousand dollars?”

Peter finally lifts his head, blinking in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“...yeah?”

“Buy toys.”

“I have toys.”

“Buy books.”

“I have a library card.”

“Pay my rent.”

“That’s grown up stuff, I can’t do that.”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day where I’d meet a Stark who didn’t know what to do with money.”

Morgan pouts, clearly annoyed with him, and it makes him laugh harder, the sound a wheeze with his dry throat. There’s a stuffed animal on her nightstand, a stuffed panther, and she lobs it at his head.

Which, naturally, is a declaration of war.

She shrieks, half out of glee and half out of shock, when Peter uses some of his super speed to chuck a pillow at Morgan. She stumbles, but doesn’t fall over, and immediately takes the pillow in her own hands and goes for his leg, whacking him with all she’s got. All Peter’s got left is one of her decorative little embroidered pillows, but it’s better than nothing, so he uses it to make a mess of her damp hair.

It takes May maybe _thirty seconds_ to shout her disapproval. “Kids! Cut it out!”

Morgan’s eyes go wide, the pillow forgotten, as she clamps her hands over her mouth. Peter is used to May being done with his bullshit, so he isn’t bothered. He takes the opportunity to grab Morgan and throw her over his shoulder before walks out of her room and into the shared living and kitchen area.

“Don’t mind me!” Peter says, loud enough to be heard over Morgan’s giggles. Her little fists keep pounding into his back. “Just taking the trash out.”

“Peter!”

“The smelly, smelly trash. Down the chute it shall go.”

“I’m not smelly!” Morgan says. “You’re the one that hasn’t showered yet.”

“She’s got you there,” May points out. “Put my sous chef down.”

Peter sighs dramatically as Morgan kicks her feet around in his face, impatient. “Fine,” he groans and makes like he’s just gonna drop her where he stands. Her legs slide out of his grip and she shrieks before he catches her at the last second by the ankle, her head only inches from the floor.

When she’s finally upright, face red from being upside down but smile no less brighter, she tugs on his Hufflepuff robe and whispers. “I’m not the sous chef. May’s the sous chef. I’m in charge.”

Peter flashes her a thumbs up. “Good idea. She needs the supervision. She once put pumpkin spice in my omelette.”

Morgan’s expression morphs into _disgust._ “I would never let that happen.”

“You literally put the Dead Sea in my pancakes the other day.”

“Sssh!”

“Go shower,” May tells him, pointing a spatula covered in egg yolk at him; it drips on his counter. “Make it quick. Food will be ready before you know it.”

As much as his muscles and sleep-clouded brain want him to stand under the showerhead for twenty minutes straight until he’s boiled like a lobster, he doesn’t. He makes haste to get all washed up, not wanting to be late and having May and Morgan’s breakfast go to waste (even though May and Morgan sounds like the show title of the world’s worst cooking show).

He can hear the two of them giggling in the kitchen, eventually shouting when the smoke detector goes off. May shouts, _It’s fine, Peter!_ before his ears pick up the distinct sound of batteries being ripped out of the detector. He leaves his hair damp as he throws on his typical weekday outfit of a button down and jeans and heads back in the kitchen.

The food is on the coffee table, throw pillows on the floor in place of chairs. Morgan’s sitting in May’s lap, eating her food, while May attempts to make a few braids in Morgan’s hair to keep the mess out of her face. He takes a seat across from them, laughing when he manages to pull the plate away from Morgan before she gets her fork full. She pouts, squinting at him, to which he just winks and pushes the plate back her way.

Peter shoves a mouthful of eggs in his mouth, praying there isn’t pumpkin spice. There isn’t. But once again, there’s just a bit too much salt. But he can stomach it.

“There!” May declares when pigtails have been successfully braided. She smacks a kiss to Morgan’s cheek. “ _Bellissimo.”_

“That’s italian for _butt ugly,”_ he announces, mouth still full of eggs.

Morgan shoots him an impressively exasperated look for a six year old. “No, it isn’t. It means pretty. She called my braids _pretty.”_

“Ah. Ya caught me.” He winks again. “Look at that, May. A bilingual speaker in the making.” He sucks on his teeth, making sure they’re clean, before flashing Morgan a grin. “And I didn’t have to show her a zombie movie or anything.”

As Morgan sticks her tongue out in retaliation, May sighs. “I’m not gonna ask. Anyway, Peter. Pepper called while you were in the shower. Her flight’s coming in at noon today and she said she’ll be ready for family dinner by six. That okay?”

Morgan cheers first. “Yay! Mom’s coming back. Can we get Thai?”

“Kid,” Peter sighs, picking at his eggs. Yeah, there’s way too much salt in his eggs. He can't stomach it. There’s no way Morgan had full control, and there’s no amount of his radioactive DNA that can save him. “We can have anything you want as long as May isn’t cooking.”

This time, it’s May who starts the pillow fight.

 

* * *

 

After they drop Morgan off at school, he and May part ways for the afternoon. She goes back to her place. Peter…

...ditches school, gives Pepper’s driver the day off, cancels her mid-afternoon meeting, and heads to the airport.

They still have the personal plane, tricked out with state of the art eco-friendly Stark Industries technology. Peter manages to get the clearance to wait for her out on the tarmac, which is well worth it. Pepper’s face when she sees Peter Parker and the Volkswagen Bug from Hell is very amusing.

She’s dressed like she normally is these days: dark jeans, sensible blouse, but a pair of killer heels like always. She’s got her suitcase at her side, as well as a large tote swinging off the crook of her elbow. When she reaches inside, she pulls out the No Face plush that he was promised.

“I don’t know if you deserve it,” she says, smiling. Her voice is louder to compensate for the noise of the jet and the wind. “You cancelled my meeting and told Kevin to go home.”

Peter acts scandalized. “Pepper, I would _never._ Kevin got sick! He has appendicitis.”

“And my board meeting?”

“You know what, funny enough - they all have appendicitis too.”

“All twelve of them?”

“ _Crazy,_ right?”

Pepper’s smile quirks to the side before she hands over No Face; she breaks out in a full-on toothy grin when Peter lights up, clutching the toy to his chest. “Oh gosh,” she cackles. “You might be more excited than Morgan for that thing.”

He rubs his face on...No Face. “Not possible.”

“Well,” Pepper adjusts her bag on her shoulder before crossing her arms. The wind whips at her hair, obscuring most of her face. “What’s so important that I have to hang out with _you,”_ she reaches forward and playfully pokes him at the center of his forehead. “All afternoon.”

“Uhhh,” Peter stutters. He opens the passenger door before he attempts to stuff her luggage in the back. “Coffee?” he finally settles on.

Pepper sighs, climbing into the front seat. “Coffee works for me.”

He and Pepper don’t say anything in the car. But that isn’t out of the ordinary. Their friendship is often filled with companionable silences, and this car ride is no different. Every so often Peter will glance at her from the corner of his eye and watch as she lazily waves her hand through the open window. The stale New York City air comes through like a faux breeze. When the sun hits her face she turns into it, eyes closed, like it’s the most peace she’s felt in days. He likes seeing Pepper that way.

She scoffs at him as they park, but not so much at his choice of favorite hippy dippy Manhattan coffee shop as it is his insistence that No Face sit buckled up in the passenger’s seat while they catch up. She scoffs again when after all his fuss of trying to choose between two different places unique coffee profiles he ends up ordering tea instead.

He get maybe the fifth spoonful of sugar into the cup when she asks, “Okay. What’s wrong.”

He doesn’t understand. He’s being very nonchalant. The sugar overload is in the range of his normal behavior. “Nothing,” he lies, hoping he doesn’t say it too quickly.

“Freaking out about Dad’s Day, huh?”

His dainty little sugar spoon hits the dainty little tea saucer with a _clang._

“You _knew?”_ Peter whines. Pepper brings her coffee mug up to her lip in an attempt to hide her smug smirk. “You knew she was gonna ask me and you didn’t _warn me?”_

Pepper shrugs. “Would telling you have prevented a freak out?”

No. It wouldn’t have. Actually, the anticipation of her asking would have killed him. But he won’t tell her that. Even if she already knows.

“It’s just…” he struggles for a moment. “I’m not…”

Words fail him.

Tony’s absence feels _different_ from Ben and his parents. It’s because the whole world feels it. Tony was so unique. So special. So...one in 14,000,605, that sometimes it feels like there isn’t a thing any of them can do to preserve his essence. Trying to fill in what he left behind feels a lot like trying to jam two mismatched pieces of a jigsaw puzzle together.

And sure, Peter’s used to _guilt._ He felt that way when Ben died. Guilty. At fault. Like he should have stopped it, even though he wasn’t the one with the gun in the alley.

But he was, at one time, the one with the _gauntlet._ Peter still remembers the feel of it, the metal of his suit chafing against the slick gold. The gauntlet was huge but somehow so _light._ He remembered it surprising him, considering how even his super-strength couldn’t get it off Thanos the first time around, back on Titan. He never asked anyone else if it felt light to them.

Was it just him? If it was so easy to hold for him, would it have been easy for him to put on? To use? He’s no Hulk but he still has the radiation factor, thanks to that spider.

...Would he have survived? Would Tony still be here? Would Pepper have her husband? Would Morgan have her father?

His right hand flexes on the table, his left going to grip his wrist, trying to massage the tendons that suddenly feel like they’re on _fire._

“Hey.”

Pepper’s soft voice pulls him out of his head. She’s staring at his hand, watching as he rubs his thumb into the center of his palm.

“Hey,” she repeats, softer, more gentle even. Like trying to catch a fawn in the forest. Pepper reaches for his hand and lets her, watching as her fingers brush his knuckles.

But he can’t look at her. Peter closes his eyes and tries to think of something happy. Something to make him laugh. Tony yelling at DUM-E. Tony picking the pickles off his burger and throwing them at Peter’s face. Tony slapping a _My Kid is an Honors Student at Midtown Tech_ bumper sticker on the back of his 100,000 dollar car. Peter even tries to conjure up memories that aren’t his. Tony crawling into Morgan’s tent fort in the woods. Morgan shoving Tony off the dock at their lake house. Morgan telling Tony she loved him _three thousand_ for the very first time.

It’s not enough to chase the tears away this time.

When Peter lost his parents, May and Ben stepped up. When Ben was gone, his world, for just a moment, revolved around his aunt. He understands, respects, and adores what she’s done for him. Raising him has not been easy. But she was always what he needed and more. For every bit of time he ever had with his mom, his dad, his uncle and even _Tony,_ it was always better than he could have imagined.

But it just doesn’t feel that way with Morgan.

It’s scary being on the other side. Being the adult, the one that’s supposed to help her maneuver the world around them. He doesn’t know how May dealt with this feeling, this crawling _guilt guilt guilt_ that creeps up his spine at a slow constant. Because sometimes he just forgets. He’s so _happy_ with his life until he remembers the cost it took to get it -

The hole that Tony Stark left in the world is astronomical. How is Peter, in any capacity, supposed to help fill it?

The only person with the answer is dead.

“I’m not enough,” Peter whispers, voice hoarse. “I’m not her dad, I’m not Tony-” he wipes at his face with his sleeve. “I’m not -”

“Hush.”

The word is soft, gentle, yet commanding. Peter looks up at her through puffy eyes and sees her own are glassy, a contrast to her wobbly smile.

“No one can replace him,” she goes on. “But she still _needs_ him. In some capacity. Sometimes it’ll be me. Sometimes it’ll be Rhodey. Happy. But a lot of the time...Peter, it’s gonna be _you._ Your brain is wired like his. You wear your heart on your sleeve the same way. You guys shared the superhero responsibility. There’s an understanding of him, a small piece of him that you have, that I can’t quite grasp. You’ll be the only one to tell Morgan about it. About all your adventures. Even the ones in space.” Her eyes flicker to his hand before her smile becomes a little more sad. “I know you would have traded places with him in a heartbeat.”

Peter sighs. “I don’t know if I could have,” he admits. “I don’t think…” he stares at his arm again, and the fire under his skin starts to fade. “In all those futures that Strange saw, I don’t think there was one where Tony wouldn’t have stopped me.”

There's something freeing about that realization. About saying it out loud. 

It makes the small ache that he's carried in his heart since Tony died a little more bearable.

“You’re right," Pepper agrees with a smile. The bright, easy-going one she gives when her face is turned into the sun. "He loved you too damn much.”

Peter chokes out a sob.

There’s a scratch of the chair and then Pepper’s hand on his face, wiping his face.

“Don’t ever say you aren’t enough,” Pepper whispers fiercely. “Tony used to say that about you. He loved you so much. But he didn’t think he deserved you, even though you looked at him like he hung the _stars._ He was always afraid to be more.”

Peter keeps crying. For someone so smart, Tony could be kind of dumb.  “He was always more than enough.”

“And so are _you._ Morgan loves you, whether you’re playing big brother or dad. We’re all doing the best we can. Filling in the roles when needed. Like helping out at the bake sale. Or going to  _Dad's Day._ And that's okay. But remember that you belong in this family. You’re her _Peter. And she needs you.”_

He nods, words failing him once more.

But this time, he doesn’t think anymore are needed.

 

* * *

 

They finish their teas and coffees in that companionable silence once more when a television in the coffee shop lights up with a breaking news update.

There’s a giant lizard...crocodile...thing. Coming out of the sewers.

Again.

“Oh wow,” Pepper mumbles under her breath as she stares at the television, equally disgusted and fascinated. “I really thought you were lying.”

“I wish,” Peter moans, already getting up from his seat. His webshooters are underneath his sleeves, his Iron Spider nanosuit ready with a few commands to his watch. “I literally just showered?” He says lowly, so Pepper can only hear. “And I gotta go play Steve Irwin in the sewers? This is ridiculous.”

Pepper cracks a cheeky grin, nodding to the streets. “Say hi to Raphael. Or Michelangelo. Whichever one you see first.”

He rolls his eyes. “Better push back dinner to seven.”

“No, I don’t think I will...”

“You don't think -  _seriously?_ Fine. Challenge accepted. But I don’t want to hear any complaints if I smell.”

“Deal. Now go, be a hero,” she shoos him out the door.

He does just that in the blink of an eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jrgkjhljhldjh I don't know. I don't know. Is it good? I don't know if it's good. But thank you so much to all who have said that it is so far mwahaha. I hope I didn't wreck it with this chapter. I'm not so good with emotional territory. But I wanted one moment with May, one with Pepper and there's gonna be a little one left with Morgan and then you'll all be spared from my attempted lol. I dunno. I'm trying to give a realistic take on living with grief. Because in my experience, it can still have a lot of smiles and happy times!!!! I don't always see that in fics. I don't know. have I said that yet, that I don't know? 'cause I sure as hell don't!!
> 
> but yes thanks again for all the love!!!!!!!!! your comments mean the world to me. They've been very thoughtful, which this fandom is pretty good at so kudos (also kudos. leave some kudos. haha)
> 
> uh, also, shout out to whoever made that broth ramen analogy in the reviews. I respect you. It was so funny.


	6. The Poppy Field Near Argenteuil

Miraculously, Peter handles the teenage mutant ninja lizard of the sewers before six. Barely. Like, 5:54 according to Karen. Which is quite the feat considering he got knocked around like half of Manhattan. And while his spidey powers could have probably catapulted him to the Thai restaurant by six on the nose, there’s the whole...smell issue. He smells. Bad. And even though he told Pepper she had no right to complain, the Thai restaurant doesn’t deserve this stench lurking around while everyone’s trying to eat.

So, he’s late. After the world’s quickest shower back at his place he makes dinner at ten til seven. A few two-seater tables have been pushed together to make room for their little party: May, Pepper, Happy, Morgan and this evening’s surprise guest, Rhodey.

The bell on the door signals his arrival and Morgan’s the first to jump out of her seat, running to the entrance to greet her. His hair is still wet, the collar of his shirt damp, but she doesn’t seem to care as she launches herself in his arms.

“Crikey,” Peter grunts in his best Australian accent, picking her up. “That was one crazy gator, yeah, mate?”

Morgan stares at him, not understanding.

“This joke is wasted on you,” he says, dropping the accent. “Where’s Rhodey, he’ll get it.” He sets her down, but she still clings to him, hand gripped in his. “Rhodey!” he calls, picking up the Australian accent once more. “Crikey! That was one crazy -”

Rhodey’s gaze is steel. “No, man.” He gives a single, disapproving shake of his head. “Just no.”

Peter deflates, taking the open seat that’s beside him. “You’re no _fun,”_ he complains, gently bumping his shoulder.

Morgan settles in on his other side, between him and her mother. She still clings, almost climbing into his lap. There’s something slightly off about her. “We watched you on the TV,” she says quietly, eyes drifting up to the screen on the wall where the news of the aftermath is still being reported.

“Yeah?” Peter cracks a cheeky grin. He leans down, keeping his voice down and taps her nose. “Did I look as cool as I felt?”

“No,” Rhodey answers. “You looked like you’d been nearly swallowed by the Demogorgon.”

Peter lights up, whipping his head Rhodey’s way. “You don’t think that’s what this is, do you? The Upside Down come to life and ready to kick our asses? Because the multiverse is very-”

Happy groans, loudly, and it causes May and Pepper to laugh. “Kid. We’re eating. Let’s not.”

“It’s decent dinner conversation!”

“It really isn’t,” Rhodey says, and that’s three strikes on the Negative Nancy comments. It’s not particularly out of the ordinary for him to be bursting Peter’s bubble, but he finds his eyes wandering to Rhodey’s braces all the same, wondering if he’s in pain or something isn’t working. Neither of them have the same mechanic’s touch as Tony despite Rhodey's MIT degree, and even though they’ve had the blueprints and materials to recreate his braces, Peter always worries it’s still lacking the mobility and comfort that Tony was able to create. 

As always, Rhodey catches him looking. “Oh, I’m just giving you a hard time,” he says a little more gently. He bumps Peter’s shoulder back and offers him a grin. “You looked _very_ cool out there. Manly, even.”

This time Peter groans, rolling his eyes, as Rhodey cackles. “Okay, I get it. There's no career for me as Crocodile Dundee."

The waiter comes around then, seeing that their table is finally full, and takes their order. May and Rhodey go in for their second round of beers and Happy actually _kicks him under the table_ when Peter playfully tries to order a beer as well. When the waiter gives Morgan a more friendly smile to take her order, she clams up and leans into Peter’s arm like she could fall asleep.

“I’m not hungry, sir,” she answers politely. “Thank you.”

It’s no skin off the waiter’s back and he thinks nothing of it, disappearing to put in the orders. But Pepper is the first to smooth the flyers of hair that’s come out of her braids behind her ears, the back of her hand coming to rest against her forehead. “You feeling okay, honey?”

Morgan nods. “Yes.” But it doesn’t sound like it. Peter frowns.

“You were looking forward to this dinner all afternoon. Are you sure you don’t feel sick?”

“Mmhm. I’m just not hungry.”

“Okay,” Pepper complies. “But if you change your mind, you can have as much of Peter’s Pad Thai as you want. Sound like a plan?”

Peter flashes Morgan a thumbs up in agreement, and it earns him a little smile in return.

He does his best to take the attention off of Morgan. Peter immediately asks Happy and May for more details about their vacation. And it does the trick. May’s descriptive imagery of the beach is calming, like painting a picture, and Happy’s intermittent commentary provide some comedic relief. It turns into a full on laugh fest when Happy goes into great detail about May harmlessly taking a tumble out of a boat. His face gets real red and he wheezes in a way Peter hasn’t heard since he himself had asthma attacks and it’s enough to bring Morgan a little out of her funk. The food comes and she laughs and giggles along to the stories that Rhodey has about co-workers in D.C, and smiles at all the cool street fashion that Pepper saw in Tokyo. It’s all enough of a distraction that Morgan actually ends up eating half of his Pad Thai.

“I’m no good with the chopsticks,” she says to Peter, quiet and turned away from the commotion of one of Rhodey’s stories. And boy is she right. Half the noodles are on the table. On her face. Under her nails. In her _lap._  “How do you _do it.”_

“The baby chopsticks are right here -” he tries to grab the little Morgan sized ones with the rubber band holding them together, but she slaps his hand before he can get it.

“I’m not a _baby.”_

“They’re not necessarily _for_ babies; the chopsticks _are_ babies. But fine. Here.” He tries to show her how, dragging her to sit in his lap. “Hold it like this.” She tries. Wrong. “No, like this. Here-“ and their hands become one blob as he tries to hold the chopsticks for her with _her_ hands. But eventually they get there. Or rather the food gets there. Where it belongs. In Morgan’s mouth.

“I did it!” She cheers when she can get a big bite in her mouth without any help from Peter or the baby chopsticks.

He smiles even when she spits a little food in his face in her excitement. “Knew you could, bud.”

Peter and Morgan are more or less in their own little chopstick world as the adults finish up and pay the tab. He does his best to stack the dirty dishes to make it easier to clear the table as Pepper finally lifts Morgan away from his lap and sets her on the ground.

“Alright, little miss. Say goodbye. Peter will see you tomorrow for your special lunch.”

Before he can get in any sort of quip, Morgan lets out this startled   _squeak._ He’s not sure if anyone without super ears could have heard it, but at least the panicked look in her eyes is obvious to them all as she launches forward, back towards Peter.

Morgan hasn’t had any sort of separation anxiety since Tony passed. And even then, Peter remembers Pepper and Happy talking about how it wasn’t nearly as bad as they thought it could have been. And it wasn't. Peter had it worse, for sure. But this is what this is, he realizes, as Morgan buries her face in his stomach. Separation anxiety. She doesn’t want to leave him.

And he can’t think of any reason why.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Peter says softly when Morgan tightens her grip on him. He crouches to her level and she shifts, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug so strong it almost causes him to fall back. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Bold use of an endearment, considering they just had a chopstick battle to confirm she isn’t a baby. But it doesn’t get her to snark back like he had hoped. Morgan doesn’t initially answer, so he looks at Pepper for some sort of clarification. She looks as lost as he is, but maybe not so worried, because whatever the problem is, Peter seems to be the solution.

“Morgan,” he tries again when he feels his shirt getting a little damp. She’s _crying._ And Peter can’t stand when she cries. The loud tears when she’s angry and frustrated are a little easier, but the silent ones when she’s sad or scared are just...unbearable. “What’s gotten into you, hmm?” He says this gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I said I’d be there and I will.”

“Mom,” Morgan finally croaks, turning her head to look at Pepper. “Can I please stay with Peter for one more night? Just one?”

Pepper’s brows draw together in confusion, but she doesn’t protest. “Sure. That’s fine,” she says when Peter mouths a _it’s fine, I got her_ where Morgan can’t see. “But you owe me a sleepover this weekend. Movie marathon and breakfast in bed. Got it?”

Morgan cracks a wobbly grin, tears already subsiding. She sniffs loudly, trying to keep her nose from running, but ends up wiping it on her sleeve anyway. “Okay. Thank you, Mom.”

Pepper opens her arms and her daughter walks into her embrace. “Be a good girl for Peter, okay? Get plenty of sleep.” She drops a kiss on her temple. “Three thousand.”

“Three thousand.” And then Morgan is running back to Peter. He picks her up and she hides her face in the crook of his neck, arms wrapped tight around him. Rhodey, May and Happy all look on, concerned, so he gives his best reassuring smile.

Pepper hands over his keys and he almost laughs at the image of her driving his hunk of junk that he calls a car. When he finds it parked around the corner, he sees that No Face is still strapped in the front seat, but he also has a buddy: Totoro.

“Hey, look at that,” he says as he opens the door and puts Morgan in the car. She immediately clutches both of them to her chest after he gets her buckled. “Mom gave you your Totoro.”

She only nods in response.

Morgan doesn’t say a word in the car the entire time. Once he makes it home he ends up carrying her and the plushes up to his apartment. She doesn’t protest when he sets her on the ground, but it takes a bit of nudging to convince her to go get ready for bed. He waits for her in her room, on the edge of her bed. He’s tucked Totoro and No Face under the covers before thumbing the pages of his old worn copy of _Chamber of Secrets._ He sort of hopes that Harry Potter’s magic can distract Morgan enough to get her out of her funk and help her to sleep.

She returns looking far more sleepy than she did when she left with a hairbrush in her hand. She hands it to Peter before she crawls onto the bed and sits in front of him, back to him. He undoes May’s braids from earlier and starts brushing out her hair.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, bug?” Peter says softly.

He’s met with more deflection. “I’m just sleepy.”

He eyes the Harry Potter book. “Too….sleepy for a story?”

“Yeah.”

Peter finishes brushing out her hair before he picks her up and moves her to the head of the bed where he can tuck her snug underneath the blankets. He does manages to weasel a smile out of her when he tucks No Face and Totoro under each of her armpits. “There!” he decides. He gives the toys each a kiss before he gives one to Morgan on her forehead. “Nighty Night. Don’t let the soot sprites bite.”

He turns on her favorite night light in the corner and heads for the door when Morgan squeaks out a, “Peter?”

Hand on the door knob, standing in the threshold, he waits.

But whatever Morgan plans on saying, she lets it go. “Goodnight.”

“See you in the morning.” He smiles, flips the light switch, and closes the door.

Morning. Maybe he’ll figure it out in the morning. But for now: sleep.

 

* * *

 

Technically, he does figure out what’s wrong in the morning. _Two_ in the morning, but still. It’s morning.

“P-Pete?”

He wakes slowly, groggily. Morgan’s at his bedside, one arm gripping No Face and Totoro to her side, the other limply holding the sleeve of Peter’s tee shirt. “Morgan?” He yawns. “What’s wrong?” His brain plays catch up and he tries to reason why she’s up at this hour, especially with her behavior at dinner. “Are you sick?”

“I had a bad dream,” she whispers.

He scoots to the right to make room, pulling the comforter back. “Well, let’s see if we can fix that. Hop in.”

She does so at frightening speed, snuggling up to his side. No Face and Totoro are squished between them in the process. There aren’t tears, not yet, but Peter wouldn’t be surprised if they appeared any moment.

He clumsily brushes Morgan’s hair out of her face. His room is dimly lit: he has a night light of his own, mostly to help him not stub his toe in the middle of the night because the spidey sense doesn’t really kick in unless he’s awake or in danger, but it’s still hard to see all of Morgan’s face. His eyes are still adjusting.  “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong. Tell me, please?”

She buries her face in his chest and says, “I saw you on the TV.”

He frowns, thrown for quite the loop. Yeah, she mentioned that. Back at the restaurant. But he doesn’t understand why this is so upsetting. Morgan’s seen him in the Spider-Man get up before. Hell, he’s pretty sure she’s seen him on the news before.

“You hit the ground really hard. It took you _forever_ to get back up again.”

Oh.

Morgan’s never seen him _fight_ on television before.

He’s been caught swinging, webbing up bad guys on security cameras, but Spider-Man is always the stronger one in the fight. The lizard thing has been a bit more of a...match. So yeah, he’s taken a few hits. But it’s not like it was the Vulture. And definitely nothing like Thanos. It honestly hasn’t worried Peter all that much, aside from public property damage. He’s Spider-Man. He’ll figure it out.

But that’s just it. _He’s_ Spider-Man. _He’s_ the only one who really knows what he’s capable of. Morgan is a six year old girl who lost her father in a fight. It’s all very black and white for her. Win or lose.

“In my dream, you didn’t get back up,” she confesses.

Life or Death.

Morgan’s terrified of losing him, too. It's why she wanted to stay an extra night with him.

She starts crying then. The quiet, shaky, terrified kind that Peter hates. He’s desperate to stop them even though he’s a little at loss for words. But he has to try.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes. He lets her grip his shirt with all she’s got, rubbing his knuckles down the top of her spine. “It was just a dream. I got up. I’m fine. No scratches, no bruises, no _nothin’.”_ That part is a bit of a fib, but any bruises he did have are gone by now. “You don’t have to worry.”

Morgan doesn’t let go. Physically or mentally. “Dad told me that before he left.”

Well, fuck. What’s he supposed to say to that?

Her cries get a little louder. “I don’t want you to die.”

That’s enough to make Peter a little teary eyed himself.

Morgan’s too young to feel this fear. Peter was, too. He remembers being skittish for the first few months, maybe even years, that he stayed with May and Ben. He's find himself thinking: would something random like a plane falling out of the sky take them like it had taken his parents? And just when that feeling _faded away,_ Ben died. Then, when Peter got bitten by a dumb spider and earned to be a hero, he thought he could physically fight the feeling. Kick it to an early grave. And for awhile he did. For awhile Peter Parker was Spider-Man the Invincible, in his mind.

But it was an illusion. He’s never been invincible. Never will be.

Tony taught him that.

But here’s the thing: if there was someone that was ever invincible, it was Tony Stark. He fought all the odds. Give him two shitty outcomes and he’d pull a third one, a _good one,_ out of thin air and save the day. He survived a terrorist attack. Multiple terrorist attacks. Flew a nuclear warhead into a wormhole and lived. Survived weeks in space on a bum ship. Figured out _time travel._ Brought half the universe back to life.

He didn’t have a serum or radiation or a _spider_ giving him powers. He was just smart. So very, very smart. But it wasn’t just that. It was a stubborn will not to die. It was a desire to do something good. As corny as it sounds, Peter firmly believes his heart was as much a superpower as his brain - even without the arc reactor keeping it beating. His heart kept him alive.

And Peter thinks maybe that’s what invincibility is. He’s going to die: he knows this. He’s going to die doing something stupid and heroic. But he’s not going to die anytime _soon_. And if he thinks like Tony, combines his brains with his heart to do something good, to stay around to love the people who love him back, he’ll come back from his own wormholes. His own terrorist attacks. His own snap of a gauntlet.

Believing he won’t die doesn’t change the inevitable: but it might just give him the boost he needs to stay alive each time he gets knocked down. For him, ivincibility is a promise that he won't give up, no matter what. May needs him. Michelle and Ned need him. Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy need him. New York City needs him.

Morgan needs him.

So he squeezes her tightly, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I’m not gonna die anytime soon,” he says. “I promise.”

Because at least if he promises, she’ll know he’s always giving everything he’s got.

“I’ve never not gotten back up before,” he tells her. “I died and _still_ got back up. I’m not…”

He pulls back, eyes trying to find Morgan’s in the dark. He has to brush back more hair, this time damp from her tears. His thumbs wipe carefully at her cheeks before he playfully pushes his thumb into the button of her nose. Peter adjusts the two of them in his bed. He rolls onto his back and pulls Morgan to his side, letting her rest her head on his chest. “Dad taught me a lot of things. My uncle made me want to be a superhero. But your dad taught me _how_ to be a superhero. This one time, he told me he wanted me to be better than him, and he was already like, _the best._ But that he was his wish. So I gotta try, right?”

“Right.”

He manages to drop a kiss on her head. “I know what you saw was scary today, and I’m sorry. But even when I get slammed into a building, or get thrown to the ground: I’ll get back up. I’m okay.”

For a brief moment he remembers Tony’s eyes in his final moments: wide open and unafraid. Peter knows he never gave up. He did absolutely everything he could.

_I just wanted to be like you!_

_And I wanted you to be better_

For Tony, Peter will be.

He gives Morgan another kiss on her head. “Everything’s okay.”

She sniffles a few more times, but she’s calmed considerably. He keeps running his hand up and down her arm to soothe her in hopes that she’ll fall back asleep. Peter almost thinks she is asleep when she asks:

“When did he say that?”

“Huh?"

“When did Dad say he wanted you to be better than him?”

“Oh,” Peter yawns, scratching at his head. “So I split this ferry in half -”

“You split -!?” she whips her head up, sleep long gone. “Like a real ferry? Like a big, big ferry?”

“The one that goes to Staten Island, yeah. But I put it back together. Well, Dad put it back together but I like...like, I really had it. I was all _swoosh!_ And _thwip thwip!”_ He mimes the motions in the dark, “and I kept it from sinking like the Titanic for like….minutes. _So_ many minutes. Hell, it might have even been an hour -”

“Why’d you split it!?”

He sighs. So much for tricking her into thinking he was stronger than the Hulk. “Okay, I didn’t exactly split it. It was the bad guys giant laser alien gun...thing. I was just trying to get rid of it. But I messed up. I messed up big time. That’s why Dad yelled at me.”

“Dad _yelled_ at you? Dad never yelled.”

Peter smiles. Of course Tony never yelled at his daughter. “True, but? I let a bad guy split a ferry in half. I needed to be yelled at. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was true. Gave me the swift kick in the butt that I needed. Wouldn’t have been able to lift a building off me or crash a plane without it.”

“Peter! That’s _bad guy stuff!_ ”

“Right, that sounds totally villainy out of context." He mumbles. "Maybe I should start from the beginning.”

“The very beginning? Like, when you and Dad met?” She’s getting very excited.

He was thinking more along the lines of the Avenger knock-offs robbing an ATM with alien tech, but he supposes he can start there. “Yeah, that’s...that’s the real beginning isn’t it?”

“I know the very beginning, but you've never really told the story: Dad gave you the suit and you started an internship so he could help you, right?”

“Ah, sorta. But he didn’t give it to me for the internship, specifically. That became a cover over time. He and I met because he wanted me to fight with him. So that’s why I needed the suit.”

“Fight who?”

“Ohhh, strap in. Here’s the story of How Peter Parker Learned to Be Spider-Man. Chapter One: Dad Invites Me to Germany to Kick Steve Rogers’ Butt and I Do It Very Well.”

Morgan giggles, snuggling up to him. “This is gonna be _good.”_

Her laughter sounds like a song. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty good. So it started with this _insane car_ parked out my apartment complex…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> me, looking at this chapter draft: *chris evans voice* I don't wike it 
> 
> but okay we're DONE with the EXTRA SAPPY AND MUSHY MOMENTS...thank god 4 me it stresses me to write it. next chapter is it. it's what you've wanted since chapter one it's what was supposed to be the second fucking part had I just CHILLED and made it short. it's fucking dad's day bitches so get ready


	7. The Lunch

Peter wakes up before Morgan. Naturally, this means revenge for all the kidney punching and nose pinching. Without much thought, he grabs one of her feet that’s poking out from underneath the covers and tickles the sole.

She wakes with a shriek.

And then he gets kicked in the gut anyway.

“Peter,” Morgan whines, trying to sink into the mattress and out of sight while Peter tries to come up with reasons why a first grade can kick better than a bank robber. “Five more minutes.”

Ah, sweet sweet revenge. “Nope!” he takes his pillow and as gently as one can when they decide to initiate a pillow fight...whacks her. “Get up, get up, get up! It’s…” he pauses when he looks over at his bedside clock.

_9:56 AM_

_“Shit!”_ Peter swears, and vaults off the bed. “We’re late. Like, super late. Go get dressed.”

Luckily, Morgan complies and rushes out of his room to her own. Peter starts rummaging through his closet when he realizes he doesn’t really know what he should wear. Morgan mentioned that it was also a field day type of thing, a picnic outside, but how serious is it? Are there gonna be teams? Oh my god, do they have to _pick_ teams? Being 6th grade’s perpetual last pick for basketball, Peter is well aware that’s never good for anyone’s self esteem.

“Hey Morgan!” he yells from his room. “What are we supposed to wear?”

“What?” her voice is muffled.

“I said: what are we supposed to wear?"

She reappears in his room a few moments later, already dressed: pink shirt, navy shorts, and favorite yellow converse. “You wear _clothes,”_ she says.

Peter shrugs his sleep shirt off and throws it on the floor. “Thanks, _Captain Obvious._ But are there team colors? Like are we supposed to match or something?” He has pink shirts, but they’re all button downs.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so.” Peter sighs. He ends up picking one of the company shirts out, hot rod red with Stark Industries written across it. “What are we sending you to school for if you aren’t _thinking_?”

Morgan rolls her eyes. “We’re just playing games for fun. I think it’s like the Olympics.”

“If it’s like the Olympics then it’s not just for fun. There’s teams and there’s a _medal_ to win. Morgan. I want that medal.”

“There’s no medal, Pete.”

“I don’t care if it’s plastic or made of chocolate. I want the gold.”

“You’re weird.”

“Do we get to pick our countries? I want to be Genovia. I want to be Queen of Genovia.”

Morgan’s face screws up in confusion. “That’s….is that a real country?”

Peter blinks before his mouth falls open in shock. “Oh my god. You haven’t seen that movie. This is horrible. But also, fantastic. After you and Mom have your little breakfast in bed slumber party this weekend, I’m crashing at your place and we’re watching the Princess Diaries. You’re gonna love it.”

Morgan sighs, clearly unhappy with the tangent. “Fine. Just! Hurry up! We’re super late.”

“And whose fault is that?” Peter scoffs. “You wanted a story last night.”

“I had a nightmare! And I wasn’t up that late. The story wasn’t _that long.”_

“I didn’t even finish.You fell asleep in the middle of Chapter Five: Ned and I Nearly Destroy a National Monument. Which is honestly like, the best part."

"It's not like it was  _Harry Potter."_  She crosses her arms and grumbles, "Shoulda asked to start  _Chamber of Secrets_ instead..."

"Did you just say -" He stops, face falling blank. "I've never been so offended in my entire life. I don't know how I'll go on."

“Peter!”

“Okay, okay,” he says, giving her a light shove out his door. “Let me finish getting ready.”

She rushes out to do God what knows what while Peter hastens to find a pair of shorts and appropriate sneakers. He’s so used to running around in the Spider-Man get up he forgets to buy more than one pair of shoes. He’s stuck with a ragged pair of converse.

Ironically, yellow. Like Morgan's. Guess they get to match after all.

When he gets into the kitchen he sees Morgan sitting on top of the counter top, legs kicking idly, a Pop-Tart in her mouth.

“Those are for your classmates,” he complains, leaning down to take a bite. Morgan’s eyes almost fall out of her head when he manages to eat most of it with said one bite. When she composes herself and looks up at him, mischief sparkling in her eyes and a smirk on his face, he’s knows he’s been duped. “We don’t have to bring anything, do we?”

“Nuh-uh,” she takes another bite.

Peter grumbles to himself, something about being tricked by a _toddler,_ while he opens his own package of Pop-Tarts. “Well,” he sighs, taking another super sized bite. The panic of being late has started to subside. It’s not like they can do anything about it at this point. “We’re not gonna get any later. Stop for coffee?”

Morgan jumps off the counter. “Cappuccinos!”

“Ah, nope. Orange juice for you.” She pouts. Peter has to physically look away so he doesn’t cave and give the gremlin a cappuccino. “I don’t think I can legally give someone your size that much caffeine. It stunts your growth, you know.”

“Did you drink coffee when you were my age? Is that why you’re so short?”

“ _Excuse me?”_ Morgan giggles at his outburst. “I’m not short.”

“Happy says you are.” She reaches over and takes a revenge bite of Peter’s Pop-Tart.

“I’m taller than you. I'm...I'm Spider-Man. I don’t have to take this.”

Morgan’s expression brightens at the mention of Spider-Man. “Ooh! Can _he_ take me to school?”

His chewing slows as he considers what she’s asking. “What, like, _swing you to school?”_

“Yeah!”

“Absolutely not. You must be….” He holds his hand up at about his shoulder. “This tall to swing like Spidey. Recreationally. Exceptions will be made for emergencies.”

“There can’t be a height requirement if _you're Spider-Man.”_

It's like the Tony Stark in her  _jumped out._

“Once again: Not. Short.”

She drops it. He considers it a win. “Can you at least braid my hair?” Morgan asks. Her hair brush and ties are on the coffee table.

He can picture May weaving braids in his head, but he’s not sure his own fingers will cooperate. “Now that, I can do. Well. Try. I can try. If you look like Pippi Longstocking, that’s God’s will.”

“Who?”

“God? Jeez, that’s a toughie. People have been asking that question for centuries.”

“Peter.”

He cracks a grin and nods to the coffee table. “Go sit down, bug. Let’s figure it out.”

It takes him a few minutes. Several minutes. He tries the pigtail braids before he realizes the part is all wrong and she really might actually look like Pippi Longstocking. Then, with Morgan’s quiet instruction, he switches to a single braid down her back. It’s nothing like the pretty French ones that May does, or the Fishtail that Happy can do. But it’s clean and simple and….a braid. He gets the task done.

“There,” he finally says, wrapping the bottom with a bright orange tie. He turns her around and pulls her in close, kissing her cheek. “ _Bellissimo.”_

“Thank you,” she says. “Don’t worry about the pigtails or the fishtail. It took Happy a long time, too. Rhodey had to help.”

“Well, that makes me feel better,” he admits. “Practice makes perfect, yeah?” she nods her head, enthusiastic, before Peter chimes in with, “Except at water balloon fights. War is war, little lady. There will be no second chances given out today. So before we go: you got your _A Game?”_

She pats her backpack that’s resting on the chair by the coffee table. “Packed and ready to go!”

“Oh, _yes!”_ Peter screeches, _actually screeches,_ because that was just witty as it can get. “That’s some Spidey fighting snark if I ever heard it!” He holds up a hand for a high five and Morgan hits it with all she’s got. “We’re gonna crush it, kid. Let’s go!”

 

* * *

 

They show up just in time for the afternoon activities to get started. Her teacher doesn’t seem to mind that Morgan missed the early part of school. Miss Sadie is just happy that Morgan seemed to show up at all. The school rec field is littered with fathers and their kiddies stretched out on picnic blankets. Morgan was right about the food: there seems to be a few tables of it, nothing extreme, but pretty nice all the same. There’s a few things of cornhole, hula hoops, some sort of place for a relay race (he’s guessing three-legged race) and then, of course:

Big buckets of water balloons.

It’s all very nice. Way nicer than anything Peter ever had when he attended school in Queens. “I thought we were sending you to public school,” he teases, but it goes right over Morgan’s head as she scans the small crowd.

“Ah!” she shouts, tugging on his shirt. “I see Annie! I’m gonna go say hi, be right back!” and she’s off in an instant, leaving Peter to his own devices.

He’s not the only one who’s been momentarily abandoned. It seems the first graders are still busy catching up. He’s not sure what’s so exciting. Maybe last night’s episode of Spongebob was absolutely riveting. It’s all good though, because it seems that all the dads seem to be catching up with each other as well. Peter realizes that they probably know each other from PTA meetings, play dates, and other school sanctioned events. He recognizes the other parent who was a chaperone on the same field trip that Peter chaperoned, but otherwise, he’s quite lost. The oddball out.

He doesn't really...know how to interact.

“You must be Morgan’s.”

Peter blinks and looks to his side to find a somewhat elderly man standing beside him. He’s got thick round glasses, high-waisted shorts, and a bow tie to boot. It sort of reminds him of Mr. Fredricksen from _Up_ and it makes him smile.

He takes the man’s outstretched hand, giving it a light shake. “Yeah, sure am. I’m her …” he hesitates with a nervous laugh. Even with all that’s happened in the past few days, Peter isn’t quite sure he knows _what_ he is. He just knows he matters. “I’m Peter.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Rob. I’m Jack’s grandfather.”

“Right, right,” Peter nods. “Morgan was telling me he’d be bringing you.”

There’s something calming about the older man’s smile. It pairs nicely with the wise twinkle behind his eyes. He has a cane grasped in one hand and Peter can tell it’s a bit difficult for him to stand so in typical Spider-Man fashion, Peter helps him to a nearby chair that’s been set out, and even goes to dig out two cold sodas out of a cooler while Morgan continues to catch up with her friends.

“You know,” Rob starts as he sets his cane aside and Peter takes a seat in the grass. He passes Rob one of the cokes. “There’s a lot of us.”

Peter tilts his head quizzically as he takes a sip.

With his shake hand, Jack starts pointing to the other dads in the class. “That’s Kyle. He’s Susie’s uncle. And that over there?” He moves his hand to a man in a red polo. “That’s Dylan’s cousin.” He keeps pointing around. “Neighbor. Family friend. Brother.”

Eventually, Rob gives Peter a kind pat on the shoulder and a smile worth a million bucks.

“Families come in all shapes and sizes. Dad’s day is just a catch-all. Thanks for coming out, Peter.”

Having to hash out his place in the world has been hard. Defining family has never been easy, if the last few days is any proof. But there’s something freeing remembering that he’s not the only one. That people, hundreds and thousands of people, build their families like he has.

It’s nice to see it all laid out in front of him.

“Peter! Catch!”

He does, with reflexes that might have caused suspicion had it not been a _water balloon._ Be it spider strength or regular human strength, Peter does catch the balloon, but it bursts in his hand, soaking his lap. Knocks his coke over, too.

Morgan is a giggling mess, braid already wet. It looks like the kids don’t care much about any sort of structure to this game - they just want to pelt their friends and family with water balloons. Jack tries to do the same to his grandfather, but Peter makes a dive in front of him and takes the hit. It’s all very James Bond and cool, but then Morgan’s friend Annie comes up from behind and ends up getting Rob over the head with a balloon anyway. Rob doesn't seem to mind, if his loud laugh is anything to go by.

“Oh, it’s on,” Peter says, lunging forward to grab Morgan and toss her over his shoulder. He looks behind him and sees that two other children have come over to Rob’s aid, hell bent on protecting him from other water balloons. Which is good. Because now Peter can focus all his attention on absolutely ruining Morgan. “I thought we were going to be a _team!_ This treason will not be tolerated.”

“No, I’m sorry!” she laughs. “We’re a team, we’re a team!”

“Are we? Because I was just _shot -”_

Both Morgan and Peter get hit with about _five_ water balloons.

“Yes!” a kid shouts. “I told you I’d get Morgan’s brother.”

“Okay truce,” he tells Morgan and sets her down. “Get the water balloons.” She sets off like a cheetah, going for a bucket of balloons. Like, the whole bucket. It’s heavy and she has to push it, but she manages as he turns to the other kids and adults, all circling him like giggling hyenas. It almost feels like some sort of Spider-Man face off, only G rated with no crime and all fun.

Eventually, Morgan tosses him a balloon. This time, it doesn’t break.

“Get ready, kiddies,” he grins, holding it above his head as he scopes out his first target. “This is war.”

 

* * *

 

There’s no _score,_ no body count per _say_ (but man, did John go down kinda hard ) _,_ not even a chocolate gold coin he can pretend is an Olympic medal, but Peter’s pretty sure he and Morgan win. Someone takes off their white t-shirt, waves it around in truce and everything. If only Spider-Man had it so easy.

But he’s glad, at the least, Peter Parker does.

It’s hard not to when he has the best family in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're done :) I'm never writing a fic without tony again :) this shit hurted :) but I hope you still enjoyed

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. if tony built an engine at 4 year old, I bet morgan can make pancakes and navigate a stove. kids are hard to write I'm trying to find that sweet spot of 'she's tony's kid she's probably stupid smart' and 'she's also....six' and I probably missed the mark sorry  
> 2\. part two is almost done.I don't normally split my intended one shots up but I felt this...needed to be done. I've already written most of it I just felt like I needed to post this now, right now, because I'm reckless but like no worries it's coming  
> 3\. the title means something to me in my head but its not literal and I can't translate that to you sorry im a hipster mess. god.  
> 4\. I know I said I wouldn't write more canon compliant post endgame fic but every time I say I won't do something I do it because I have like 5 brain cells and I'm dumb so what did you expect  
> 5\. I think that's it. for now.


End file.
